Dame Boot Camp
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: After Cecil has a near-death experience, Sideshow Bob kidnaps the Simpson children after they were supposed to be sent to boot camp to learn better manners, and hands them over to a far greater power than even death: his mother. However, there is one problem besides a kidnapping. What happened to Cecil?
1. Prologue

_Springfield Penitentiary_

Ugh. "Mystery Meat." Has all of the same properties of a school's regularly feared cafeteria lunch, only more flavors (I say joyously).

Usual meaning: you eat this and die a miserable, slow death.

I watched the guards take Robert's food to him; they aren't hard to pick out. I sighed, eying my father at a nearby table with several other inmates.

The tables are filthy as well; never washed with real water. I sat down, looking forward to starvation later on. "How's life?"

Father sighed. "Disappointing."

Nobody said anything for a while. Snake was talking to several others; we were the only ones at this section of the table.

"Have you heard anything about Mum?"

"She's bailed herself, Gino and Francesca out. They're working on ours."

"Just ours, or—"

"They want Bob to stay in here a while longer, just in case."

"Ah."

On the side, there were mashed potatoes. But there was also gravy, to which I had heard made somebody go into a coma at one point.

"How far along into our bail have they gotten?"

"To cover approximately two and a half of us."

I jumped a little. "How long have they been out?!"

"Long enough. This close," He held two fingers about a half inch apart, "to our freedom."

There was also a side-salad. It looked safe; no sewage dressing or rat bits.

"I've always hated the number eighty-seven. Especially after our sentence. If everything goes according to plan, I'll scoff at it later on."

"Why not now? The sentence is already broken for good behavior. I think they're posting our bail today or tomorrow."

"I've gotten cocky in the past. Won't make that mistake again. Why didn't you tell me?"

The salad looked too clean. For all I knew, somebody could have sneezed in it.

"Ah. We all paid for that one, didn't we? I wanted our bail to be a surprise."

I took a small bite out of the mashed potatoes, avoiding the gravy as best as I could.

"Actually, it was when I took Bob in at the dam. It seems so long ago now, though. I want to say _years_ ago, but it couldn't have been."

"That day was sad for all of us."

"Even worse for me, I was hoping on escaping."

"And killing your brother and two children in the process."

Silence to that.

I felt the first hints of nausea give way to the back of my throat. I took a sip of water. It helped some, though the feeling kept creeping up. I also experienced a brief flash of pain in my head.

Great, just like the second day—I'd be in the infirmary, unconscious while the other inmates drew their trademarks on my forehead.

Lunch was up. We went to the courtyard now, most of us showing off how many pounds we could lift with the weights. I started for that section, but stopped.

I massaged my temples as the first signs of a major class-five migraine set in. "Ah, _god_…"

"Your mistake of eating the food," Father walked past me.

I groaned, stumbling a few steps forward. Somebody pointed at me. I dropped my hands at my sides and stopped trying to walk. My eyes dropped to the ground as I lost the energy to hold my head up.

* * *

There were no words for this agony, not even the mystery meat could have caused this.

Cecil couldn't think straight now; his eye sight was dissembling into shadows; limbs were immobilized.

His head went numb, meaning the hearing did as well. Now there was only the sound of his beating heart—

Which was pounding at his skull, and only speeding up by the minute.

There was a crowd around him now, taunts and teases coming from his fellow inmates. Robert Sr. watched sadly as his son was bullied, shook his head, and continued lifting the weights.

Cecil's head raised up, his eyes now a mirror anguish for the pain behind his head. This expression alone caused the taunting to stop.

His heart continued to grow faster, the pumping becoming all one sound, until . . .

It stopped.

He let out the cry of torment—which was cut off—and fell to the side.

* * *

"-Kent Brockman, with the Springfield News. First off, we have the prison news," he glared to someone off-screen, "to which I have agreed to tell first." He smiled at the camera again.

"Well, there was a possibly fatal accident with a prisoner inmate, a Cecil Terwilliger. Doctors say that he suffered a major heart attack after the prison's "Mystery Meat" triggered the allergic cause. Because of the lack of people who care, the prison infirmary and the one doctor—his father—were not good enough. Family members posted a bail so that he could get to a real, better hospital in time.

"They were able to save him through the surgery to get the meat out of his system, though he left us," Kent's eyebrows went up, "_three times_ during the time. Cecil now rests in the hospital, in a coma. Now _that's_ a man who wants to stay with us!

"Uh . . . in a related matter, his brother, Sideshow Bob, finally snapped out of his, to put it politely, "special phase." He has returned to normal, only less talk about killing Bart Simpson, and more on the "life is truly precious" crap no one wants to hear about.

"Now, to return to my normal news stories, there was a bridge collapsing downtown today, trapping—"

Homer turned off the TV. "Boring!"

He got up, going to the kitchen. Bart and Lisa sat on the ground, shaking.

Bart calmly said, "Think he's gonna kill me for real this time? Or," he gulped, "make it slow and painful?"

Lisa paused, still shaking, "Maybe. Maybe they'll leave us alone, because of the accident."

"What if it wasn't an accident?"

Neither said anything.

* * *

**I know I really shouldn't be writing anymore than what I already have, but I've been meaning to start this for a while now.**


	2. Trouble

_Three months later, 9:00 PM_

"-In other news, the former prisoner, Cecil Terwilliger, came out of his coma last night after three months. Doctors have handed him over to his family now, saying, "He just lost a few screws, nothing a little therapy won't fix. Now take him and never come back." His survival has seemed to trigger a new aura about his family, a hopefully "not-crazy" aura. Sideshow Bob has finally been pronounced "not-insane," while we're talking about it. His family posted a bail earlier this morning, and they have all—"

Grandpa Simpson rolled over, turning off the TV as well as falling off the couch. He jumped, startled, awake.

"_What the_—it's nine o'clock! The nurses will think I'm _dead!_" He ran out the door, calling a taxi.

* * *

_The next day, 7:00 PM_

"Bart . . . I don't think this is a good idea."

"Yeah? You didn't think trying Moe's squishees was a good idea, either."

"But look where it got us! You have detention for a whole month because you drove Skinner's car off school property."

"Two months. It went into the dump too."

"Ah."

The boys—Millhouse and Bart—continued down the school hallway.

"Bart?"

"Yeah?"

"You still drunk?"

"No! I'm on a hangover."

"Oh. OK!" They opened the door to Principal Skinner's office.

"This is it, Millhouse."

"What are we doing in Skinner's office?"

"Uh . . ." Bart scanned the room. He could upset the table. No, that wasn't enough. Even if he pulled out the drawers of all the filing cabinets, it wouldn't be enough. It had to be something Skinner would remember for a long time . . . besides what that hobo did to the car when it crashed into the town dump.

_It'll take weeks to wash that smell out of the seat._

Bart suddenly had an idea. "I know exactly what we're gonna do. Remember our files they have on kids? All of the bad stuff we've done over the years?"

"Yeah! I can't get into Yale because of my file! I'll have to go to," he shuddered, "_Princeton_."

Bart patted his shoulder. "Dude. I'm so sorry. What if all of our files were to be completely cleaned out? Like a blank file, every kid has a perfect slate."

Millhouse scoffed. "How do we do that? They have our files on the school computer _and_ paper."

"Well, we can easily fix both of those. C'mon," Bart took the computer, Millhouse took the shredder.

* * *

Lisa took a deep breath. _This is what you've been planning all week, Lis. It's now or never. You back down, you never find the courage again. Now or never. This is the point of no return. When life hands you lemons, make use outta it. Geronimo. SHUT YOUR CONCIENCE AND GET ON WITH IT!_

She took a deep breath and went inside. The Stonecutters all looked up. Sideshow Mel cried out, "It is the Simpsons' eldest daughter! Don't let her tell her father we have re-formed the group!"

Lisa frowned, held up the sign, and shouted, "My father was right to make all of you do community work! Now you're all slaughtering poor, defenseless animals! Just look at what you've murdered!"

She took out the first slide from the sign, revealing a picture of baby lambs on a farm. "These poor babies were all killed on YOUR hands!" She slid that slide out to show a picture of men holding lambs, cutting their throats.

The Stonecutter leader, One, shouted, "To lamb heaven with your proclamations! We had right to kill them! Why would you care?"

All of the Stonecutters shouted protests at him. Krusty shouted, "_Now_ you've got her rolling!"

Lisa grinned madly. "But you _admit_ you killed them! I took care of lambs there, before you bought the farm! I took care of this little sick one named after my first long-term relationship boyfriend: Colin! And Chief Wiggum's EATING him!"

Chief Wiggum sat out his food. "_You mean I'm eating a sick lamb?! Gross! _That's it, Simpson. You're under arrest for destruction of club dinner!" He handcuffed the child.

* * *

Maggie groaned past her pacifier. Gerald was coming towards her. She sighed again and held up her rattle in defense, just as he attacked with his. The babies gathered around their "sword" fight, goo-gooing and ga-gaing. The care-takers started cheering, betting on which child would win.

They went around the room, grunting and thrusting rattles. Finally, Gerald knocked Maggie's out of her hand.

Oohs from the crowd.

She grabbed his rattle out of his hand and threw it over her shoulder. They started slapping each other, squeaking when one of the hands actually hit a body part. Maggie actually looked, and threw a blow to Gerald's face.

Cheers from Maggie's side, groans from Gerald's side.

He looked at her stunned for a moment, and thought of a plot for revenge. He fell backwards and began to cry.

Maggie gasped inwardly, looking around and seeing all of the babies glaring at her. Her shoulders sagged when the sitters picked her up, already calling Marge.

"Alright, sweetie. Fight's over, time for you to be in trouble now."

* * *

"SEY-MORE!" Chalmers yelled.

Principle Skinner jumped out of his seat. "Y-y-yes sir?"

"WHY can't I pull up any of the kids' files on my laptop? I don't have time to come to this school every time I want to check on your students!"

"Wh-wa-well, s-sir, you should be able to pull the files up on the school computer." He turned around, pulling up the fifth graders on the computer and clicking on Bart's file, "I can show you by simply—wait a moment. _This says Bart Simpson has never been in trouble!_" He stood up.

Chalmers cocked an eye. "So I _can_ open the files from my computer?"

He sat back down. "Yes sir, you just have to…"

...

* * *

_Ding-dong_

"Coming!" Marge opened the front door. Chief Wiggum was holding Lisa by the dress.

"Your daughter has broken a B197. Disturbing club's dinner!"

* * *

...

The phone rang. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Wiggum continued eating the death-by-chocolate cookies she had offered. "Mm. Take as long as you need…" He took two cookies, taking a bite out of both of them at the same time.

_Eh. Homer would've eaten them in five minutes anyway…_

She picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"_Hello? Marge Simpson?"_

"Yes? Who is this?"

"_This is Krusty's Day-Care Center, where all of the magic really is."_ Her voice was flat and bored while saying this, but sounded amused here, "_Your daughter, Margret Simpson, has punched a little toddler boy. We need you to come and pick her up for today."_

Marge sighed. _All three children in one day? _"I'll be there in ten minutes. Thank you." She hung up and sighed. "Chief? I need to go get Maggie, can you watch Lisa and Bart while I'm gone?"

"Thu'. Anathin'." Bits and pieces of cookie came out of his mouth, landing on the freshly-vacuumed carpet. Marge sighed again, grabbed her coat, and left.

A call came in from his radio. Wiggum picked it up, wiping cookie crumbs from his mouth. "Yello?"

"Chief!" (It was Lou) "Me n' Eddie were chasing a runaway bank-thief under a bridge, and part of it collapsed on us! I broke my right leg . . . an-and both arms. I can't…can't hear or see Eddie. I've lost a lotta blood, Chief. We're under West Avenue, near the Nuclear Power Plant-"

"Gee Lou, I'd love to help you guys out right now, but . . . I'm trying to save children from a burning orphanage. Yep, that's it. I'm in the middle of carrying out a little girl, she's all passed out and stuff. I've gotta go now, a big plank of burning wood just landed in front of us!"

"But Chief-"

He turned off the radio and turned back to the cookies.

* * *

"Bart needs to stop pranking, Lisa needs kelp keeping her opinions to herself, and Maggie needs to learn how to stop punching boys." Marge rubbed her temples, trying to get the headache to go away from the roots.

"Yeah. We recommend _Sunshine's Boots_." The chief took out a pamphlet from his front pocket, handing it to Marge. "We decided to take Ralph for three weeks. When he came back, he finally learned how to use a fork, stopped picking his classmates' noses when they're sleeping, and finally stopped wetting himself."

"_Really_? Boot Camp did _that_ to Ralphy? My god . . . imagine what can happen to the children . . ."

"Exactly! Just try it, see whatcha think." He turned to the wall, "My wife and I tried it, and we were _very_ happy with the results. Sunshine's Boots helped our child. Why can't it help _yours_?" He pointed to the wall on the last word, winking and smiling. "Call 1-800-555-BOOTS today!"

"Erm . . . Yes…I think we'll just have to, the children need to learn respect and proper manners." She sighed. "Let me and Homer talk it over."

"Alrighty then. Can I have the recipe to these cookies?" He finished licking the plate.

"Sure. It's an old family recipe," She got up, heading for the kitchen.

* * *

**Time may have been off a little, sorry.**


	3. Sideshow Bob's Cavalcade of Whimsy!

"What?!" Both children exclaimed. Maggie almost dropped her pacifier.

"Yeah," Homer said. "Now get in the taxi so all three of you can go to boot camp for two weeks."

"Isn't it enough you already sent Bart and I to military school?" Lisa crossed her arms, watching her parents take out their bags from inside the house.

"We didn't take Maggie with us that time," Marge handed Lisa her and the infant's bags.

Maggie angrily sucked on her pacifier, crossing her arms.

The parents hugged their children. Homer started to wave, "See ya losers in two and a half weeks! Now _please_ get into the taxi so you can go already."

"Two and a half weeks is like, half of the summer vacation!" Bart tried to take his bag out of the trunk.

Marge stopped him, shutting it. "First off, no it's not! Second, you'll have a great time! It isn't even close to summer vacation yet. Third, you don't even have a choice. None of you even have any money to get a taxi cab home. Now hurry before you miss your flight!"

"Why does Maggie have to go with us?" Lisa picked her up.

"Because she got into her fourth fight in one mon—hey! Don't stall! I know you two well enough," Marge got out of the road, "I love you all! Have fun and stay safe!"

They were all ushered into the back of the cab.

As the car drove off, Marge watched the children get smaller and smaller in the distance. She sighed, "Do you think this was a good idea, Homey?"

He started giggling like crazy. "Are you kidding?! Two and a half whole weeks without either child, _and_ their school paid for the plane tickets! How can I _not_ think this was a good idea?"

Marge sighed again as the children disappeared entirely.

* * *

Lisa buckled her belt. "I can't believe they actually did this." She did Maggie's.

Bart was silent, staring out the window.

Lisa took a look around the cab. It was a bit shabby, but not so much as every shred of fabric was ripped or dirty. Their driver was named "Bob Gerier Twill." From her point of view, she could see he had on a black hat.

Bored and too furious to keep her head straight, she tried to start up a conversation with him. "Interesting name. Is 'Gerier' a real middle name, or do you use two last names?"

"Oh, I've used several names in my lifetime."

This drew Bart's attention away from the window. Lisa chuckled nervously. His voice sounded very familiar, deep. "W-what?"

"Uh," he coughed, "I-it's an undecided name, actually. My parents divorced when I was a child, couldn't stand to choose one last name." After the cough, his voice sounded scratchier, like a smoker.

"Oh," she laughed in relief. "I'm sorry! Your voice sounded exactly like someone I know for a second there—and he has the same first name, too!"

"Bob's a very common name, Lisa."

"How did you know my name?"

They arrived at a traffic light. "Your parents told me. I almost used Eliza, actually. Sorry."

"Ah. It's fine."

They continued driving in silence, until they missed the turn-off for the airport. "Uh, sir?"

"Hmmm?" There was a smile in the voice. A very _familiar_ smile.

"We just missed the turn-of for the airport! We'll miss our flight, and then mom and dad will kill us!" Bart leaned to the side, trying to see the missed turn.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," He no longer tried to hide his voice. They arrived at another stoplight.

The driver took off his hat, making his red spiky-shaped hair bounce up. He turned around with an evil grin, "Hello, _Simpson children!_ Next stop, _Sideshow Bob's Cavalcade of Whimsy!_" He let out the evil—yet rather cheesy—laugh, and floored the taxi when the light hit green.

Bart and Lisa screamed, making Maggie cry.

Bob stuttered a little, 'doh-ing.' "Please make her stop, she just ruined the one moment I've been planning for three good months!"

Bart scoffed. "Your fault for kidnapping her too!"

"I'm not going to leave a baby on the streets! I'm a homicidal maniac, not heartless."

Lisa unbuckled Maggie, cradling her. "I thought you'd be busy taking care of Cecil."

"We are," His voice was flat, shoulders now hunched over the wheel.

She giggled. This made Maggie's crying turn to sniffles. "You're all living together, aren't you? I can tell from your posture, facial expression in the mirror and your tone of voice."

"Yes. We are, you smart ass—_alec, _pardon me. Alec. Now that you'll be with us too, _you_ get to take care of that raging demon!"

"What's wrong with him? And what the heck do you mean by "living with you?"" Bart perked up a little. Irony is what happens when you start up a friendly conversation with the man who's about to kill you.

Or not.

"Well, let's just say I'm on orders from somebody who's a step above me in life. Cecil has been driving all of us crazy; he's always, to put it into terms of your understanding, 'loopy.' We've been putting him through therapy, _worst_ days of my life."

"Hey, I've been wondering too, what _happened_ to him?"

"Doctors say it was a severe heart attack. Father doesn't agree with them, though he had all of the symptoms after lunch."

"All of them? Why doesn't he agree?" Lisa shifted Maggie, placing and buckling her back to the seat.

"Well, the first symptom was a severe headache, from what I've been told. And then, we still aren't sure if it's the after effects that are saying this—and that's another reason why Father doesn't agree with the doctors, because of the after effects—that his heart beat so fast it sounded like one long twine of sound until it stopped. In Cecil's words, of course. He also said he knows who 'assasinated Spiderman.'"

"Cool," Bart breathed.

"Aww!" Lisa exclaimed. "What does your father think it was?"

"We don't know. The original theory is that the mystery meat had allergic reactions to his brain, aside from the heart attack, and—ah. Here we are." They drove into the driveway of a two-story house. "Home sweet rented home."

* * *

**Short, I know. At least this should get the ball rolling from here on out. :)**


	4. Their House

We entered the house by gunpoint, me holding Maggie and my suitcase, Bart holding his and hers. Bob held the gun that was trained for our backs. Francesca opened the door when Bart banged both suitcases on it to get the knock across. She had that same (to put it into Mom's words) "stabby grin" Bob did when he was about to kill us (but failed).

She turned back to the family members inside. "They are here!"

We were ushered in. The first room was the kitchen; not too different from the one at home (_our_ home). Except for the faded baby blue wallpaper and decorations, everything was like looking in a mirror. Bob lead us through there, into a dining room. Of course, it had a table in the center, if that really needed to be said.

There wasn't a door to separate us from the living room, which, oddly enough, was a mirrored flip image of ours too, maybe a little bigger to really fit everybody. Bob's entire family was in there, either sitting on the two-sided, right-angled sofa that was against the corner in front of the TV, or on the floor.

Despite this possibly being at least an emotional situation, I wasn't necessarily afraid. It wasn't different from any other time we were kidnapped; we would escape.

However, I found it terrifying when Cecil stood up with his finger in the air. "_The enemy! No dirges for them, since they shall die so young!_"

I then unsuccessfully stifled laughter. Bart and Maggie laughed though. Behind me, Bob sighed.

Dame Judith was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed. "Sit down and shut up."

He did so, "Yes ma'am."

She got up, the rest of them following. "I believe that all of you know our story so far. At least the part of it you were _there_ to cause."

I shrugged. Maggie sucked on her pacifier, and I couldn't see Bart.

Bob came out in front of us, the gun still trained on my brother. "And now, Mother, you know how much we hate surprises." He cocked the gun, "Can I do the honors?"

Bart stepped in front of Maggie and I, "You want me," He said through clenched teeth, "Not my sisters."

She kept a poker face. "No. I believe I made my orders clear to take all of you."

Finally, after all of these hints, I burst out laughing. By the time I was done, everybody was staring at me. I pointed to Dame Judith, looking at Bob, "_She's_ your higher power? The one you have to follow orders from?"

Bart got it as well, cackling with me. "Momma's boy!" Maggie started laughing as well, though I'm not sure if she really got it or was following our lead.

Bob sputtered a bit. This was the first time I've ever seen him blush, even if it was slightly, making us laugh harder. "R-really? You have officially sunk _that_ low? I've heard better comebacks from _Chief Wiggum_."

We all stopped, grinning. This kind of behavior we had in mind was highly irregular for us, especially right now of all times, but hilarious and entertaining all the same. We _do_ have Simpson blood in our veins. And this was a great stall on our part, waiting for some miracle to save us.

Like it usually does every time. So long as this works.

Dame Judith spoke up again. "If you are done—"

"Wait . . ." Bart paused, "HA—! Okay, I'm done."

Bob and Gino—who was now in the arms of his mother—scowled.

She kept a straight, blank face. "Now that you are done, I suppose you would like to know what we plan on doing to you."

I looked around. _Annoy, _"Well, I guess so. Sort of. You have really high power; none of _them_ even know what they're going to do. Aside from your husband."

We all glanced at Robert Sr. He gave a half-smile. "There are some things _somebody else_ is meant to explain."

"Gut them?" Gino took out his knife.

"Shoot them?" It took Bob a moment to realize the gun was already cocked.

"Vendetta!" Cecil stood up again, arm in the air and pointed.

"Sit down."

He followed her orders once again.

"Allow me to start off with how our lives are."

"Why do you people take so much pride in what you've done since the last time you tried to kill us?" Bart asked, "It isn't exiting at all, especially to three kids with nothing better to do with our lives. Why can't we ever talk? For example, we're really appreciative of you guys because you saved us from going to boot camp. The first thing I did the last time you tried to kill us was get ice cream. Lisa did her homework, and Maggie took a nap."

Maggie sucked on her pacifier.

Part of her lip curled into a smirk. "Good for you. But I wasn't going to _tell_ you how we are currently living our lives. I was going to _show_ you."

"And then gut or shoot them?"

I looked at Bob, suppressing a grin. "I bet you're going to _miss_ us."

Bob scoffed. "What makes you think I'm going to _miss_ you? I have attempted to kill you _multiple_ times."

I shrugged. He walked right into this one, I have to admit. "I've heard boys pick on you because they _like_ you."

This got Francesca chuckling and Bart laughing hysterically.

Even Dame Judith gave a full smile. "He's already married, dear. And no. We aren't going to kill you."

Everybody besides Robert Sr. gave her a look, "_What?!_"

She maintained her smile, "Don't you agree? Life is an essence. We should appreciate it while we have it, and though taking it away is the worst crime anybody can do to you, it can also be a blessing."

All that time she stared at Cecil, who was on the floor. Robert Sr. was making sure he stayed down.

She looked everyone in the eye, resting on Bart and I, "Our lives, as of right now, are as miserable as they are because of you children."

"It would've helped if your son didn't try to kill us so many times." Bart crossed his arms.

"Consequences will come to all of us, my dear boy. If we go down, we are taking you in the process. You shall stay with us for the next two weeks—"

"WHAT?!" All of us shouted, aside from Cecil (simultaneously, he shouted 'BAZINGA?!').

"—And see how we suffer."

"And what makes you think we're not going to crawl out a window or something?" Bart asked.

"Bullet-proof. And _child_ proof."

Gino nodded, "I can-a vouch for that."

"Doors?" I lost my grip on my suitcase; it thudded on the floor, the sound ringing through the room.

"Coded electrical lock. You'll never figure it out, or have the time to get to the door."

"And what happens," said Bart, taking a step closer, "if we find the time?"

"Then one of us shall cut you off."

"How?" I asked.

"It depends on whether or not you like surprises, dear."

"What kind of surprise?" I picked up my suitcase.

"Where will we be staying?" Bart dropped his. We both started taking slow steps forward.

"How will you treat us?"

"Why are we here again?"

"When will you release us?"

"Will I ever see my mommy and daddy again?"

I stifled laughter at that comment. "Can I have a final request? I want a meat-lovers dinner, but without the meat."

"I want my lawyer! I want my phone call! I want Maggie's pacifier!"

Maggie sucked on her pacifier, throwing him a warning glance.

"_Why_ are you _acting_ this way?" Bob gave us a funny look, crossing his arms.

"Between you and me," Bart said, "we aren't acting," He dropped the half smile. "We're seriously like this. Me more than Lisa, I don't know what's in her system."

I shrugged. "Adrenaline. My parents just sent me off to boot camp, you're holding us hostage—mixed emotions, sir."

"And now," Dame Judith sighed, "Bob, you can have the pleasure of showing them the soon-to-be locked basement. Let them get settled in."

"Isn't that where Cecil—"

"Do you want him sleeping anywhere else? Say, _your_ room?"

He and Francesca were behind us in a heartbeat.

Bob hesitated. "What exactly are we going to do to them then?"

She glared at him. "As of right now, lock them in the basement. Did I not make that clear?"

All four of us took a step back at her sudden power-ridden tone. Bart whispered into my ear, "Now _there's_ a woman who knows the strength of her own power."

"Alright, you three," Bob said, "Let's move."

* * *

**This is what I get for watching 'The Simpsons Shorts' on YouTube. Things may go old-time soon, if this keeps up (but in my opinion the older episodes were the funniest, so I may keep the characters up like this).**


	5. Dinner in the Basement

The basement smells funny.

Lisa claimed the couch that's in the corner, but I made a deal with her that we both switch off. And Maggie gets the old laundry hamper with the extra sheets stuffed in there to keep her warm and 'comfortable.'

Anyway, Lisa gets the couch tonight, while I get a pillow and comforter neatly spread out on the floor. There's also a bed, but our new cellmate gets it.

Speaking of Cecil, he was really funny when we saw him. In both ways. I look forward to messing with him when he gets down here.

We've talked it over now. Lisa and I have agreed to do our best to _make_ them kick us out. We even told Maggie to do so, and communicate by rattle if she doesn't understand something.

She answered "no" to that.

It's been about an hour or two, something like that, since we were locked down here. With the barred windows and junk. Er, _no_ windows at all. Just a dangling light bulb and a lamp on a coffee table in the middle of the room. The basement looks exactly like ours does, only less stuff. There are some old photo albums we may go through and taunt Bob about later on, but I'm too bored to get up and go through them.

We've set our suitcases under the bed, mine under the couch. Just in case _they_ decide to go through our things . . . .

"How long's it been?" I stopped pacing and sat down.

Lisa checked her watch, "Just fifteen minutes. It's going to be long, and very boring. You may want to take a nap or something to pass the time."

"I'm not tired!"

"Maggie was," She gestured to our sleeping younger sister.

"Well, I'm not," I sat down on the couch next to her, staring at the wall.

"Well, you may be in a couple of days. Considering the fact that there's an air vent right above us, I can only imagine they're," She stood up, facing the vent that I hadn't noticed before, and screamed, "_EAVESDROPPING!_"

We chuckled at the shout that came out of Bob's mouth on the other end of the vent.

"-And will both fix your statement and get a hard-earned revenge on me," She laughed.

"Ooh, _NICE ONE!"_ I cupped my hands to my mouth, smirking at the same sound of shock.

"_Damn you, you little bas—_"

"Watch your language around my very impressionable younger sisters!"

"And older not-the-best-influence-on-us-anyway brother!"

We both smirked at that, just because.

* * *

The time now sat at 5:07. Lisa checked the clock three times per minute herself.

_Time not only slows down in black holes, but in empty basements, too._

Three more minutes and six more clock-checks later, the door on the top of the staircase opened. She leaned over and punched Bart in the shoulder, waking him up with a start.

"_Take_ him!" Bob shoved Cecil through, almost making him trip and spilling—

_Dinner!_

He cried out, almost dropping the plates, and winced when the door slammed shut and locked behind him. This awoke Maggie; Lisa took her in her arms, soothing the baby.

Cecil paused around the middle of the staircase, staring at the children. He looked like he was about to run back upstairs, and he was gripping the plate so hard his knuckles turned white.

Bart looked at his sisters, and then around the basement. He scoffed, "Dude. You waiting for us to attack you or what?"

"Bart," Lisa whispered, "I think we need to meet him halfway."

"No, y-you don't." He took another slow step down, and another. "I think I can make it."

"To the bottom of the stairs?" Lisa asked, "Did the accident leave you dizzy?"

"No, I'm not _that_ bad off," He reached the bottom, leaving the silver dish on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

It was a pizza.

"Ooh, pizza!" Lisa grabbed a piece.

"Why _pizza?_ Did you poison it or something?" Bart picked up a piece, checking it thoroughly (including taking off the cheese, putting it back on, and giving it to Maggie).

"I don't know. All I know is that it's my dinner too," Cecil took a piece, holding it high above his face and nibbling off the edge.

Lisa asked, "Aren't you going to eat with your family?"

He gave her a pitiful look. "They don't like me eating with them. And Mum said that one of us needs to watch you three." He took a few bites off the piece, "They all nominated me."

"Why don't they like you eating with them?" Maggie crawled from Lisa's lap into Cecil's.

He shrugged, adjusting Maggie and setting down his pizza, "I don't know. They just always seem ill-tempered with me. It's like they always-" Maggie shoved her pacifier in his mouth. He tried talking, and spit the pacifier out. "Ugh, what _was_ that?"

Lisa and Bart started chuckling at him.

Maggie giggled, earning a small and weak smile from him. "They always seem annoyed by everything in this town. Just more so towards me."

Lisa scooted next to him, patting his hand, "Aw, it's just that they—including you, I think—are over this town," She gasped and looked at Bart, who had now hacked down three slices of pizza, "_That's_ one of the reasons why we're here! They can't move anywhere else, and they're _miserable_ in Springfield!"

He looked at her, with half a slice of his fourth piece in his mouth.

"That _is_ one of the reasons, I think," Cecil said, "That and many others. Either way, your visit's going to be a while."

Lisa took him by the shoulders, "_How long_ is it going to be?"

He looked at her quizzically, "That's a very personal question, but I'm pretty sure it's fully grown by now. If you're confused, my shoe size-"

"_What?_ No, I-I didn't mean—_what?_"

Bart had started choking on his pizza, then had to lean on his elbows with heavy laughter. When he was done, he said, "N-nothing! It's a dude thing." He turned to Cecil, "She meant how long we're going to stay here."

"Oh. Sorry. I thought Mum said two weeks."

"_She was serious?!"_ Lisa exclaimed.

"Oh, Mother never lies through her teeth, unless she's acting," He paused, "And she wasn't acting. Nobody saw you coming here, did they?"

"No," Both children weakly stated.

"Then chances are you can't get out until we _let_ you out."


	6. Eddie

The door opened, and a dog came running downstairs. He was a white Miniature Australian Sheppard, with light brown spots. Bob came down after him, groaning. "Aw, _Eddie!"*_

Eddie ran up to the children, licking and playfully growling at them. They—and Cecil—started playing with him, giving him belly-rubs, ear scratches, you name it.

Bob turned to the doorway, stopping about halfway down the flight of stairs. "Father, _why_ must you have that damn dog?!"

Robert stepped into the doorway, rolling his eyes. He whistled and called out, "Eddie!"

The dog perked up at his master's call, and ran back upstairs to his feet, sitting and hanging out his tongue.

He smiled, crossing his arms. "Just ignore him."

"You know I can't, he's always staring at me!" Bob finished his way downstairs, shuddering at the dog's mocking and amused stare. "It creeps me out!"

"I wasn't talking to you," Robert turned around, leading Eddie out.

Bart smirked. "Dog got your tongue?" They all laughed.

Bob glared at them. "First of all, that phrase is when one is at a loss of words. Second, I came down here to see that you were all comfortable with your arrangements." He shifted uncomfortably on the last part.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever, so long as Lis keeps her promise."

"I will! And yes, I'm fine with the couch tonight."

Maggie sucked on her thoroughly-washed pacifier, looking up at Cecil.

He shrugged and smiled, "I fine feel."

Bob picked up the empty plate, and took two steps up the stairs, "Alright then. Scream if you need anything, I suppose." He whirled around, "Metaphorically speaking! Don't actually take me seriously!"

Lisa stood up, brushing crumbs off of her dress. "Actually, I have one question. Where's a bathroom?"

He grimaced. "C-can't you hold it?"

"No, I don't have to yet. I just want to get dressed _without_ the presence of two boys and a baby. And I want to brush my teeth and take a shower, that taxi didn't look very clean at all."

"Yes. Well, that _would_ make sense. Uh," Bob came back downstairs, going behind a dangerously large stack of boxes. "Behind here. But if you feel the urge to bathe, keep in mind the water down here gets cold within approximately eight to ten minutes. Give it a five minute break between people, and you should be set." He went back to the stairs, then turned to the children. He pulled them a little farther away from Cecil, making sure he couldn't hear. "Mother didn't want me to warn you yet, but I'm honestly not that cruel. If you hear him," He motioned to Cecil with his eyes, "whimpering, or thrashing about, don't wake the poor man. Let him get out of it himself, it's part of the brain's reaction to the accident."

Bart frowned. "What if he starts screaming?"

His brow furrowed, "He stopped doing that about two weeks ago. It he starts up again, wake him and see what happens. But the best thing is to let his unconscious mind work it out itself, that way he won't—what?"

Bart had his hand raised like a child in school, but put it back down. "I don't wanna know what happens, you'll spoil the whole movie!"

"Bart!" Lisa nudged him, "This is serious, we could get hurt!" she turned to Bob, "Right?"

He chuckled. "Probably. It depends on how violently he's acting in the dream. Trust me, you'll know when to leave or wake him." He started back up the staircase, "The first clue that tells you you really shouldn't awaken him is when he starts growling at you."

The door's lock was heard and rung very clearly in the basement.

Cecil said nothing as the children each took turns getting ready, both older siblings taking care of Maggie. He laid down on the bed, getting ready for one more night of troubled sleep.

* * *

I was on a beach, sitting on an old-fashioned one-piece school desk.

But my arms were strapped down.

And my head was locked into place by what felt like giant hands holding it there, and doing so very painfully.

There was another man, right in front of me. His face was in the shadows, even though we were in broad daylight.

Er, sundown. Sure_, now_.

I just noticed he's holding a fork. With mashed potatoes on it. And we aren't on a beach any longer, but in the prison cafeteria. There are guards in the room, and we were all giants, but we were all to scale (ah, but I knew we weren't on a normal scale because the window showed us on a cloud, and a beanstalk being right outside the window). There was a clown in the corner with pink hair and a red balloon.

I didn't like him, he looked like Pennywise The Dancing Clown from the Steven King book/movie. Only with pink hair and a very bright shade of orange-colored trousers.

Back to the guard with the fork.

He tried to shove it in my mouth, but I was smarter than him! I kept my teeth together! Despite the _ridiculous_ amount of pain coming from my now-bleeding gums.

* * *

All three children were watching Cecil squirm in his bed in a curious sort of amusement. Lisa chuckled a little, and Bart raised an eyebrow when Cecil began to moan-swear in some sort of weird English language:

"You fuzzy-winkled son of a biscuit! None of you will ever get my shoes! My non-existent gold tooth! _You all lie!_ _All _of you!I have _never_ kissed the editor of the _New York Times_! Liars! _Liars!_"

* * *

The arms behind me forced their fingers against both sides of my cheeks, trying to open my mouth, but I refused! I was _smarter_ than them! I _could_ control my own body! No matter what, these people would never get my secrets! They were all plotting against me, all—

The pink-haired clown thwacked the red balloon in my face. I opened my mouth to tell them off, and I did so with _fury!_

"—You empty-headed wipers of dogs' butts! I _fart_ in your general direction! You red-butted _baboon_ _butts_ … Shlimmy Shwartzenheimer-Who-Never-Existedes! Zombies that need to poop! Monkeys that need to fart! Those slimy snakes that children usually scream at! Molds on shower curtains! Without you in the world, we'd _all_ be eighteen percent happier! I would be an extra three percent," I finished proudly, holding my head high.

* * *

All three children, by this time, were almost rolling on the ground laughing.

* * *

They took advantage of my opened mouth and began to stuff the mashed potatoes in there. I began to choke; they weren't giving me any time to breath. When I tried to spit out the mashed food, the clown would smack me with the red balloon.

Damn the]at clown! Nevertheless, I gave up trying to spit it out and just started choking.

* * *

They all immediately stopped laughing when their source of entertainment began to choke.

Lisa scrambled up and got to the bed, and Bart turned on the lamp-light. Maggie climbed on the bed, watching her older sister open Cecil's mouth, making sure he hadn't swallowed it.

He hadn't, but there was also no reason for him to choke.

Maggie took her pacifier out of her mouth, placing it on the bed. She moved Lisa's quickly-moving hands from Cecil's chest, and hit his neck twice before a ball of something indescribable came out and flew across the room.

His eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his sockets before they teared up. He put his head on his knees, letting his arms hang out over them, with a quiet sob. "Don't let them do it! Don't let them find me!"

Lisa patted his shoulder and took his hand. "Don't let who do what to you?"

He sniffed, raising his head a little and revealing a teary eye, "The guards and clown! Don't let them find me again!"

Bart awkwardly sat there with his hands knotted together, staring at him. "Dude. What did they _do?_"

"They tied me down and tried to feed me mashed potatoes! _Garlic_ flavored!" His shoulders shook with several silent sobs.

Maggie sat next to him, leaning her head into his side.

Bart and Lisa looked at each other, frowning, and back down at Cecil.

Lisa scooted to the other side of him, placing an arm around his shoulders. Bart didn't move.

* * *

***- Guess where I got Eddie from? X)**


	7. The Box-Theory Accident

**Two chapters of two different stories two days in a row - I'm on a roll here! 8D**

**Just for the record: Eddie was Martin Crane's dog in **_**Frasier**_**. Even if the real Eddie wasn't an Australian Sheppard, those dogs are just really cool in my opinion and make great pets (or so I've been told). They're intelligent, trainable, and loyal - a dog that would make a great pet to a Terwilliger, in my opinion.**

**If you want to sue me, I'll make him bite you.**

* * *

Francesca sat up in bed. She listened closely for whatever had pulled her out of her sweet, sweet dream and—there it was again.

Sighing, she flicked on the lamplight. Bob stirred, and threw the pillow over his face. "Turn off the damn light!" He moaned.

She sighed. "Roberto, it's Cecil again."

He tossed the pillow onto his chest, rolling over to her side of the bed, "Isn't it your turn? I went down there last night. Or, better yet, let the children take care of it."

Her brow furrowed. "Listen to him!"

Bob went silent, listening to the muffled sound emerging from the vents, "_Zombies that need to poop! Monkeys that need to fart! Those slimy snakes that children usually scream at!"_

He groaned, gripping and forcing the pillow back over his face. "Another nightmare. That doesn't change the fact that it's still your turn."

She sighed, pulling on the black fleece robe over her nightgown.

As the door shut behind her, Bob called out, "You left the lights on!"

"Screw you," She muttered under her breath.

By the time Francesca got to the basement door, she heard the usual muffled crying. And the lights were on. The first thing she saw was the children on the bed, Lisa's arm draped around Cecil's shoulders.

And all three looked up at her as she made her way down the stairs and sat down in front of Cecil.

His eyes were wide and red and puffy, looking back at her. He sniffled, wiping them.

Francesca smiled at him, taking his hand in hers and gently rubbing it. "It eez alright, Cecil. It's over now." She shifted in her seat, "What was it about this time?"

Lisa spoke up for him, "He says that he was in prison-"

"And the guards tried to feed him mashed potatoes," Bart interrupted.

"-But he didn't want them to," Lisa went on.

"And there was a clown there, with a red balloon-"

"Who would smack him with it every time he refused the spoonful of food-"

"So he began to choke and we woke him up."

Maggie frowned and hit Bart in the side.

"Ow! Alright, _Maggie_ stopped him from choking on whatever that thing was."

She smiled proudly.

Francesca's eyebrow went up, and she smirked. "Thank you. But I am down here for what woke me up in the first place," She turned to Cecil, staring him eye-to-eye. "Why were you cussing out the clown in your dream?"

He sniffled again. "Be-because he was smacking me in the head with a balloon."

"Uh-huh. But _why_ was he smacking you in the head with a balloon?"

"Hey, lady," Bart said, "We already told you—"

She shushed him, "Let him talk."

"Because I wouldn't swallow the mashed potatoes, no matter how hard they tried me."

"So they punished you for doing something you did not wish to do?"

Lisa recognized her tone of voice, past the Italian accent. It was a therapists'.

"Yes," He was hesitant to say this. "That's why I started yelling at him. But he took advantage of that and shoved the spoon in my mouth."

"And what did you think of that?" She was getting tired now. Maybe it would be best to let the children comfort him after all.

"Well, I didn't really think about it as much as how I was going to swallow. And then I started choking, so I couldn't even think, much less—"

"That eez good, Cecil," She yawned, and got up.

Only Lisa seemed to notice how hesitant he was of letting her hand slip out of his. How there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he did so.

"Your problem is letting go of your fears. Sometimes, people punish you for doing what you do not want to do. But that does not mean people always will," As Francesca was saying this, she began to go back upstairs. "Just go back to sleep, and remember: nobody can make you do anything you do not wish to do. I _cannot_ stress that enough. Now goodnight, we are keeping the children awake. You will be fine, I promise."

* * *

_Sick. This is sick. So incredibly twisted and sick. They've kidnapped Bart and Maggie and I, and we haven't done a thing about it! They've locked us up in the basement with a crazy man—who was already crazy to begin with—who is aggressive in his sleep._

But Lisa couldn't argue with herself. They wouldn't get hurt, not so long as Dame Judith didn't want them to. Unless, of course, an "accident" was to happen . . .

She looked back at the bed, where Cecil's sleeping life-form was. Well, he was awake. Now. He got up, heading for the bathroom. As he passed through the back, the large stack of boxes swayed just a little, but enough to still be considered a dangerously high stack.

Lisa checked the clock a few seconds later. It was 8:43. Just to prove it, there were several different sets of feet, all heading from the second floor to what she thought to be the kitchen.

She got up now, too paranoid not to stay put. She went in-between the large stack of boxes and the wall, so that whenever Cecil came out he wouldn't see her. She stood there, pondering over their situation.

What would they do? What _could_ they do? They were trapped here for two weeks, starting today, with the man who tried to kill Bart on numerous occasions. And his family.

Panic started to seize her mind, wrapping around it and breaking the barriers between sanity and darkness. She didn't know where it was coming from, or why it suddenly decided to stab her mind at this very moment, but nonetheless it was _there_. This was the feeling she got as Bob attempted his earlier life-taking plots against Bart's life, before they got to the joking-about-it stage.

Yes, there _was_ that time of unspoken terror. After the attempt on Aunt Selma's life, they had all driven in grim silence back to the house. She _still_ remembered, after he had hijacked their boat on Terror Lake, his face as he came into her room and tied her up along with the rest of her family. It was one of a demon's, one so twisted by hatred it no longer resembled a human face, almost as if the human part of him was a mask. Especially when he smiled at her—worse than a snake's— and took out the rope.

And then whenever Bob had become mayor, and—

The bathroom door opened.

By now, fear had gripped her mind. She stood, hunched and shivering a little, holding her breath. Footsteps approached and stopped at the stack of boxes on the opposite side of her. She turned around, trying not to face the mountain and make this panic even worse.

* * *

Cecil sighed. He thought about reaching out and trying to stop the stack from swaying anymore.

_Wouldn't surprise me if they simply fall over one day from Eddie's _tail-wag.

However, the boxes had remained untouched ever since they had all settled into this house. Of course, it was the _movers_ that unpacked and somehow stacked the boxes down here, and they had remained this way ever since.

Only this time they really _did_ begin to fall over.

Cecil threw his arms around the closest one to him, but succeeded in tripping over his feet and into the falling stack. "_Shoot!_"

As everything crashed—though all of the boxes were duck-taped shut and concealed nothing more than ancient scrapbooks (still weighing a lot)—he heard a cry of surprise.

_Lisa?!_

The cry was cut off as the boxes—and him—landed on something.

Silence for a second as time drew to a halt and hung in the air.

Then a long and loud wail of anguish pierced the silence.


	8. He Doesn't Believe You

Cecil scrambled off of the boxes as Bart jumped out of bed. "_What_ did _do_ to my _sister?!"_

He didn't listen, but shoved the crates off of poor Lisa. She was bawling. He picked her up, sat on the ground away from the fallen boxes, and cradled her to his chest as everybody else came running downstairs.

Robert was the first to come down immediately. He paused around the middle of the staircase, making eye-contact with Cecil. He then continued down and around the corner, followed by Bob right behind him, and so on.

Robert approached Cecil, confusion—not fury—flickering on his face. "How did the entire stack fall over?"

"I-I was just walking past it. Didn't even _touch_ it!"

"Oh, _sure_. And I guess you're gonna claim it was an accident, too!" Bart was sitting at Lisa's head.

He glared at him, "It _was_, you little brat!"

"Arguing won't fix anything!—" Robert sighed, trying to look Lisa in the eye. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere!" She sobbed.

"But where does it hurt the most?"

"Th-the leg!"

"May I check it?"

She sniffed, but nodded.

As he was doing so, everybody shifted uncomfortably.

Bob glanced at Francesca, who looked just as sympathetic and unnerved as the rest of them did. In the process of Lisa's outburst, this had caused Maggie to start crying; she was now in the arms of his wife. He looked at his mother—even she had the look.

Not wanting to feel useless, he crouched down next to his father, at Lisa's head.

Robert stopped at Lisa's ankle, sighing with relief. "Your left ankle's just twisted, my dear."

"Don't call her that!" Bart exclaimed. "It doesn't sound right coming outta you demon-people."

He glared at him, "We're _all_ human, Bart. My family deserves to be treated as such just as equally as yours."

"The town's just classified us as '_Simpsons_,' there're professionals looking into the human part."

Robert turned back to Lisa, "The ankle should be fine." He frowned, "Was that all that hurt?"

By now, her sobs had turned silent, but tears still ran down her face. "Wh-why would you care?"

"Why indeed?" He sighed, "Nobody likes seeing another human being suffer, unless that person has wronged you. _You_ have never wronged _me_, at least not intentionally. Now, I don't believe you answered my question."

She sniffed again, rubbing her eyes. "I think it was just the shock of having an entire stack of boxes and a grown man fall on you that caused the pain."

Cecil grimaced in guilt.

Lisa looked up at him, "It's okay, Cecil." She turned to Bart, "It wasn't anybody's fault but my own. And the scientists are just looking into _Dad's_ story, they cleared ours and Mom's names." She turned back to Cecil, "As much as I appreciate the kind gesture," she sniffled, "could you please let me get up?"

His eyes widened and a slight blush came to his cheeks, "Oh, yes! Of course, sorry." He got on his knees, setting her back up.

Judith said, "Do you think you can stand?"

Bob and Bart helped Lisa up, "I think so, yes."

Robert was hesitant to let go of her shoulders when she was finally standing, "Are you sure? Try to walk on it."

She took a step forward on the bad foot, and . . .

Lisa drew in a sharp breath as her leg buckled down, almost making her fall.

Cecil readied to catch her.

"No, no!" She exclaimed, "I can do it!" She stood upright.

Bart smirked. "There ya go, Lis. Tough it out."

She raised her head high, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She said flatly, "Pain is in the brain, Bart."

Everybody smirked but him.

* * *

_If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge?_

Judith sighed.

_This should mess up the plans._

No, she meant what she had said—she wouldn't hurt any of the Simpson children. Or, if anybody were to take that into _literal_ terms, she wouldn't have anybody to hurt them _for_ her.

Her basic plan was for them to know what kind of hell they had caused this family to live in: moneyless. Almost jobless.

Robert Sr. was working as a doctor at the hospital. Bob was (ironically) at Mr. Burns' new construction site for the Springfield Dam—that was never finished and "somehow" blew up. Dame Judith worked part-time at the theatre—even if she wasn't in England, she would still act.

Gino was home-schooled, and everybody else had to take care of Cecil.

While the Simpson children _went_ places—Bob had mentioned something about seeing Bart in _New York_ with a girl before being hit by a train. And then Lisa winning thousands of dollars off of poker—Bob once again told her, since Bart had hacked into and played on his account.

Technically, it was _his_ fault for using the same password for everything nowadays: "_For there was never a story of more woe than of Francesca and her Roberto."_

Anyway, the accident would mess things up. Judith had at least wanted the children to be able to _walk_ their first day here.

Well, that would be unfair. Lisa was trying her best. She was limping, but she was walking. They still had to bring her breakfast to the basement, since she couldn't move up a flight of stairs quite yet.

Bart, of course, opted to stay down with her. Even the baby—Maggie—seemed to give the family a look that said the same thing. Nonetheless, the men had to leave to go to work, there weren't any Shakespeare plays at the theatre, and everybody else ate breakfast in silence in the basement.

_It could be worse. She could have broken the leg altogether._

For now, they had Lisa put ice to the ankle to stop the swelling, and had her stay on the bed.

For now.


	9. Attempted Therapy

The basement door slammed shut and locked behind them. The conversation that had ensued after breakfast echoed in Lisa's head as she slowly faced her brother.

"_What_ do you want us to do?!" Bart's jaw had dropped.

"I said it quite loud and clear," Judith crossed her arms.

"I _heard_ you, but it doesn't make sense! Why?"

"We can't afford a proper therapist."

Francesca cleared her throat.

"Well, _you_ have a degree. But I don't think we've gotten too far in our 'research,' have we?"

"Research?" Lisa exclaimed, "I thought he had a heart attack that rendered him—well, it rendered him _something_ in his mind. But I thought that was that."

"I-I'm still in the room, you know," Cecil said. "No need to talk about me like I'm not here," His eyes grew wide and he looked up at the ceiling. "Unless _you're_ not here, and I'm just imagining all of you out of loneliness, because ever since the entire human race turned invisible and mute, I grew to be very lonely and depressed so I imagined you were all here instead of thinking about nothing but how incredible it would be to just hear another kind human voice instead of sit in prison and—"

Maggie put her pacifier in his mouth.

Judith nodded to her, "I like you. We never stated that it _was_ a heart attack. There was no cause to have one, he had no cholesterol build-up, no problems that the doctor saw. Aside from his calm demeanor and lack of lunch, there was nothing wrong with his health. However, something _did_ happen, as you can see. And all we want is to help cure him."

"Then why do you lock him in the basement?" Bart asked smugly. He smirked.

"I'm still in the same room as you people!" Cecil said, slouching a little.

Judith pursed her lips and ignored both comments, turning back to Lisa, "Our point being, we have not gotten anywhere with his therapy. I want to see if talking to _you_ may help him."

"I'm still here!" Cecil exclaimed.

However, they were once again locked in the basement. And, once again, locked down there with a madman who was already mad to begin with.

Bart and Lisa turned away from each other to Cecil.

He shifted uncomfortably from the sofa (Lisa was on the bed), and opened and closed his mouth. He handed the pacifier back to Maggie, who took one look at the saliva-coated rubber and threw it across the room.

"Okay . . ." Bart said, "So we're supposed to play therapist. Lisa, you ask all of the questions while I fall asleep."

She sighed. "Can't you at least _try_ to stay awake?"

"Fine," he groaned. "Would her majesty also want me to fluff her pillow for her?"

"Ooh, please," She giggled.

Cecil cleared his throat. "Uh—sh-shouldn't we s-start?"

Lisa looked at him, "Right, sorry. Well," she leaned into the nook between the pillow and wall, "how do you feel, first off?"

"Sort of peckish."

"No, I mean—wait, we just ate." She shook her head, "Nevermind. I meant how are you feeling _inside?_ As in your _feelings_."

He frowned at the ceiling for a second, then looked back at them. "Confused."

"Why's that?" Bart asked.

"I can't figure out why Justin Bieber* hasn't died out yet. Same thing with One Direction."

"_None_ of us can!" Both children exclaimed.

"Let's move onto something else," Lisa said. "Whatever word I say, you have to say the first thing that comes to mind. You know, word association."

"Alright," Cecil adjusted Maggie, stretching out his legs.

Bart sat back and watched with a smirk on his face.

Lisa cleared her throat, "Day."

"Tuesday."

She frowned some. "Night."

"Batman."

"Dog."

"Woof."

"Cat."

"Shrodinger's Cat."

"Broadway."

**"_You just don't succeed on Broadway if you don't have any Jews!_" He sung.

At this point, she began to smile. "Love."

"Wine and money."

"Hate."

The corners of his mouth drooped. "Shrouded darkness. Slack-jawed yokels." He shuddered, "_Clowns_."

Their grins went down as Lisa continued onto this, "Despair."

Cecil felt a headache begin to slowly form in the back of his head. "Loneliness."

"Wait a minute," Lisa sat up.

"Clocks."

"No, no. I wanted to ask you if you can come over here."

He got up and did so silently, still holding Maggie. She slipped off of him and crawled over to Lisa.

"Alright, we can continue. I want to get deeper into your head . . . Prison."

He winced and looked down. The headache was now noticeable. "Torture," He whimpered.

Bart leaned forward. "Lunches?"

He made a disgusted face. "Blech."

Lisa glared at Bart, then turned gently to Cecil. "Day."

"Still Tuesday."

She rolled her eyes. "Cells."

"Dungeon chambers. I have a headache."

"I bet you have some aspirin around here somewhere, it's alright. Cell bunks."

"Hard as rocks."

"Cellmates?"

He jumped off the bed, whimpering. The headache was almost to the surface of his conscious mind, carrying something deadly, he knew, and he didn't want it to reach that point. "Ah-I don't want to do this anymore!"

"Cellmates!" Bart pushed.

The headache dragged itself further.

"No! _Please,_ _stop_," He clutched his head, covering his ears.

"Bart, stop it!" Lisa cried out, "We've found something, don't push him any further!"

"Dad once told me at Christmas time that if you open a present slowly, it's an agony that'll never end. But if you open it quick, then it won't be as bad and you'll get a new present. We're in a psycho-maniac's house, locked in the basement with his mentally sick brother. Whaddya think I'm gonna do? _Cellmates_!"

Tears formed as the headache pushed the brink of his mind, threatening to explode whatever it carried to his conscious mind. "_Stop it!_"

Lisa scrambled off the bed, fearing the tone in Cecil's voice. The icepack slipped to the floor as Bart said one last time, "Cellmates."

The migraine, along with its deadly poison, exploded into Cecil's head, and the world went blank.

* * *

_The man struggled against the guards' solid arms, trying to shake his own out of their firm grips. These two men had blank faces, staring only ahead and not at the man anytime he cursed them._

_This was because one guard was holding his right shoulder with one hand; the other was holding his left forearm with one hand as well. And it drove the man insane that he could not escape, that they had stricken him of his rights and dignity like this._

_However, the man stopped struggling when they stopped at a door._

_Already, they had taken him underground, to facilities he had not known were down here. Maybe they weren't even in the prison anymore, who knew?_

_This frightened the man; he pushed the thought out of his mind._

If we aren't in the prison anymore, then where they hell _are_ we?!

_However, the man's infuriated glare turned to something of terror, looking at what was printed on the door. One of the brutes opened it with his free hand. They escorted the man inside._

_Now, seeing what was in there, the man no longer screamed curses at these men—he instead screamed in a mix of horror and a fear he had not known the lengths of ever before in his lifetime, at what lay inside this room._

_He struggled as hard and fierce as he could, trying to escape from the grips of whoever these people were, as the door shut behind them._

* * *

His head stopped spinning. Cecil put his arms down, slowly standing up straight. He didn't know where the migraine went, but it was gone. No poison was left, either.

The children were watching him with wide eyes. He had not fallen on the floor, or knocked unconscious. He had just blanked out for a minute there.

He felt something tickling the darkest chambers of his mind. He tried to grasp it, but lost its soft touch. Silently, he sat down on the bed and leaned against the wall, tears freely falling from his face. He sniffed. "I'm sorry. I really am."

Lisa sat down next to Cecil, the numbness from the ice quickly wearing off. She wrapped her arms around him.

But that didn't change the fact that he still didn't remember the "dream."

_I know there was one. I know I had it. But where is it?_

* * *

** I'm mean. But this gives us a lot to go off on now, doesn't it?**

***- I'm sorry for bashing these people, but I really don't see how girls can drool over them. Especially One Direction, and how "awesome" role models they are. :P Though I have a bit more respect for JB after he finally got his hair cut and his voice improved some.**

****- From Monty Python's Broadway musical **_**Spamalot**_**. Starring David Hyde Pierce, who actually did sing **_**You Won't Succeed**_**, the song that Cecil just sang. ;) Awesome song, hilarious, and the piano scene is the best part of the whole thing. ;D**


	10. Why?

**Sorry, almost forgot in the last chapter: a special thanks to Twilit Violet, for giving me the inspiration to fill out a plot-hole in this. Thanks!**

**Also: sorry, I've had a bad case of writer's block for a couple of weeks now. :P Not my fault, and sorry if this seems like a short chapter. **

* * *

Eddie came running downstairs as the door opened. Cecil quickly wiped his eyes.

Bart knelt down on his knees, playing with the overly-exited dog.

Everybody else looked up at the person coming downstairs now—Gino Terwilliger. He was carrying a box, the objects inside it sliding up and down as he took to the challenge of climbing down each step with it.

He stopped and paused at the bottom of the steps, looking at them in grim silence. Finally, he set down the box and said, "Momma said that this was for Maggie. If she gets bored."

He rubbed his shoulder awkwardly as Maggie stumbled over her blue one-piece to the box. She took out a toy train.

Lisa smiled. "Are those yours?"

He looked at her, ignoring the question and stating, "Why are you hugging my uncle?"

"Why does your family have him locked in a basement?" Bart snapped back.

He shrugged. "I do not-a know. Papa says that my uncle tried to kill you two," he gestured to Bart and Lisa, "and him by exploding a dam."

Cecil frowned, "So a couple of years in prison aren't enough to make up for that? I'll have you know that I suffered more than you can _ever_ know, and—"

Lisa put her hand to his mouth.

"Excuse me then." Gino started up the stairs.

"Wait!" Lisa exclaimed, "Please tell your mother and grandmother that we need to see them. In private."

He nodded, running upstairs. And shutting the door behind him.

Eddie jumped onto the bed, demanding attention from Lisa by plotting himself down and rolling over, expecting a belly-rub. Bart finally came over as well, letting the dog have what he wanted.

Cecil turned to her. "I hope you realize that when you say 'in private,' I know that you'll just leave me down here."

"That's what I wanted to talk to them about," She said.

"Yeah, why _do_ they keep you down here?" Bart asked.

"I honestly don't know. I think it had something to do with keeping you company."

"So _you_ are supposed to stay down here with _us_ until we escape and call the cops," Bart put his fingertips together like Mr. Burns, and showed a blank expression.

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

He grimaced. "Yeah—that's not going to happen, so…" He said slowly. "As much as we truly _do_ want to help you and your little serious life-endangering mental issues, I don't think so."

They were interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking.

* * *

They were now upstairs, in the den. Cecil had stayed in the basement, playing a game of checkers with Gino. He had announced the children's departure "unsanitary" and had shown obvious disgust for the imaginary foe. Maggie had stayed down there as well, mostly because she couldn't—well—talk.

Lisa crossed her arms. "Why do you keep him locked in the basement?"

Judith maintained a steady gaze. "You have been with him, child. You know perfectly well _why_."

Bart shared Lisa's angry Mr. Burns-like pose, only with a blank face instead of the "bad-cop" mask. "But you _don't_ care about him if all you do during one of his nightmares is take turns with a family member, going down there. While the rest of you just go back to sleep, not a care or worry written in your little fancy-shmancy homicidal agendas."

Her head turned sharply to him, with a raging fire behind those aged eyes. "Of _course_ I care about my son, you heathen _brat!_" She took a deep breath, settling herself, "Excuse me."

Francesca took that moment to chime in, "We are doing our best to care-a for him. But, as you can see, it eez not-a easy." Her eyes narrowed.

Lisa said, "Then why _do_ you keep him down there? I'm going to assume that you have been locking the door before we got here on him, and I bet we'd get it if you didn't. You're keeping us down there with him, we at least deserve to know why!"

Judith sighed heavily, placing her head in her hand. "We keep him down there for multiple reasons, dear."

Both children leaned forward in their seats as they both asked simultaneously, "_What reasons?_"

She looked back up, taking a deep breath. "One of the reasons is because of the windows. When he would awaken from a night-terror in his old room, he would throw himself at the window, crying for freedom. It would make _me_ cry listening to him—you would think he had been locked away, in a horrible place, for months. The second reason is simple, and not entirely important: it would deprive us of our precious little time we have to sleep. Once again, not very important."

Francesca abruptly got up. "I think I will leave you be, go check on them. Now that you-a _mention_ them."

Judith continued, "The third reason, then. I think Bob mentioned his dropped habit of growling at you?"

Both children nodded.

"Yes, well. When that would happen, and he would wake up, keep in mind how strong a fully-grown man's jaws truly _are_. Especially to a child as young as Gino, no matter how quick he is. Nobody was hurt, thankfully, but there were too many close-calls. Which leads us directly into the fourth reason: sometimes he wouldn't even realize he was awake."

Both Bart and Lisa looked at each other uneasily, the same thoughts spinning through their heads.

"That is why you don't wake him up in the middle of a dream. Because in every single one of his dreams, he apparently has to defend himself one way or another."

Lisa gulped. "Every dream is like that?"

"Don't they have drugs to help with that?" Bart asked.

"You'd think that - none that are strong enough. Something creeps into his mind every night, and something has poisoned my son's head." Judith said with fierce confidence, "But his dreams are worse when nobody is around afterwards. And that is why you're down there."

"It wasn't a heart attack, was it?" Lisa jumped up, "When we were talking to him, he blacked out at "cellmates" in word association! Have none of you figured out what I just real—"

"A repressed memory, we know."

" . . . Oh." She settled back into her chair. "Then why did you tell us—"

"_I_ said nothing of the heart attack Bob has been poking around at. We know it is a repressed memory, but what triggered it? _That_ is the question! He was perfectly fine until that one day, when Robert told him—" Her eyes widened in realization, as did Lisa's.

"What did your husband tell him?" She leaned forward again.

"That their freedom was coming close. We had been saving up the bail money, we were about to…But why would that bring back the memory?"

"It could have been shock," Bart said. "I mean, he was in jail. Eighty-seven year sentence, I should know, I was there during your court case! It was freedom-shock! That means this memory had something to do with jail—"

"—And the news of the bail had an unconscious effect on his mind, triggering some time where he must have had absolutely no hope of escaping!" Lisa exclaimed, jumping up once again.

Judith looked at the children in bewilderment. "You children are much brighter than I gave you credit for."

Bart jumped up as well, looking at Judith. "Hey, if we fix your son, are we free to go?"

"That would depend. Would you press charges against my family when we let you go?"

"That would depend," He said mockingly.

"But when would he have lost all hope?" Lisa's grin faded.

Both children looked at Judith.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know the answer to that. After we were arrested, they separated us."

"But wouldn't Mr. Terwilliger know?"

Bart smirked, "Yeah, all _three_ of them _would_ know, Lise. Four if you count the pipsque—er, Gino."

She rolled her eyes. "I meant her husband, Bart."

Judith nodded. "Yes, he would know."

"Why didn't you ask him before?"

"Both of them—my husband and Bob—were questioned very thoroughly. It blows my mind that none of the pieces clicked for any of us."

"Are you sure?" Lisa now frowned, deep into thought. "Sure, the pieces were vast and many, but for _none_ of you to get the picture? Maybe your family haven't been entirely honest with each other, ma'am."


	11. Mysteries

**Sorry, I've meant to keep this up every Thursday, and if not then, than Saturday. But school's been wearing me down to the marrow in my bones, and I've been finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes open every night (I was actually dozing in math one day, for the first time since NEVER).**

**Then, I actually got **_**more**_** than five hours of sleep! :D Sorry, though. It may be a little short.**

* * *

The day continued on, but not as a lazy day—the children were put to work. The first thing was to do was to pick up the boxes that had fallen over that morning, put their contents back where they belong, and avoid stacking them in the earlier manner.

Cecil, of course, helped.

However, the most part of those contents were old scrapbooks. As Lisa and Maggie picked up the albums, Cecil placed them back into the boxes, and Bart went through each one.

"HA! When was this taken?" He held up a brown case, so old its neck had a very visible crease in the center. The picture was of a young Cecil in a clown costume. On the back, Bart read, was, "_Cecil, six years old. He stole Robert's shoes and my lip balm."_

Cecil snatched it out of his hands, blushing while the others giggled. "Keep your nose out of our snuff."

This added an extra burst of giggles from Lisa, "_Stuff_, you mean."

"Wasn't that what I said?"

She rolled her eyes, going back to the work at hand.

But now she couldn't resist taking a peek at every open page there was.

There was one of the two brothers when Cecil was just a baby. Bob was glaring at the infant with a bit of disgust, even holding him as far as his arms would reach out.

Lisa looked at another picture below that. It was another of the two brothers, only a little older, standing in front of the Springfield Gorge. Cecil looked to be about six or seven, and Bob was in his teens. They were standing a distance apart, and even she could tell their smiles were fake.

She frowned a little. "May I ask a personal question?"

Cecil didn't look up, "Now that would depend."

"On?"

"How personal it is."

"Did you and Bob ever get along?"

He started putting stacks of books in a fallen box, "On occasion. He was always zigging while I zagged. One summer, he wanted to tour the castles of—"

"Hey, you told me this at Bob's fake funeral!" Bart exclaimed.

"But not to her."

"It's okay, I got the jist," She went back to organizing. "But as often Bart and I fight, we don't try to literally kill each other."

Bart froze. "Uh-huh-huh. Yeah. Never."

Cecil froze as well, but said nothing. He went back to sorting.

"Wait," she said, "why _did_ you try to kill him?"

"Ah . . . no commen—wait, you were there, you remember."

"No, there's obviously something else."

He sighed. "Did you ever see my flashback to the clown audition?"

"No," Both children answered.

"But Bob mentioned it at the dam," Lisa said.

"Oh. Right. Then that's it. Though I mostly did it for the money."

They finished packing the scrapbooks.

"Are you sure?" Bart said, "Because that's not something you hold a grudge ten years for."

Cecil's eyes now narrowed to the murderous look he had in the dam. He said through clenched teeth, "It is if that was what you dreamed of since _childhood_."

"But ten years away from each other just so you can try to kill all of us in a dam? Isn't that a little much?"

"Well, maybe we just have anger issues!"

Cecil got up and began to go upstairs just as a door slammed.

Lisa could just barely make out Francesca's voice. She turned to Bart and mouthed, "_Bob's home."_

And, true to their earlier conversation, Dame Judith unlocked the basement door. "Bob is here. I believe we have a few questions for him?"

The children ran past Cecil, upstairs.


	12. A Few Questions Answered

Cecil watched the children go upstairs. He sighed, and fell back into the bed.

His head hurt.

He turned to Maggie, who was playing with the newly-given toys. "I've been getting these headaches more often nowadays."

She looked up at him, taking notice that he was still talking.

"I overheard everything that they said up there, too, from that air duct. About repressed memories."

She went up to the bed and took out her suitcase from underneath.

" . . . I don't think I have any. I'd remember a black hole in my memories, in the—" He paused. "Well, it _was_ prison. That time dragged by as slowly as—ooh."

Cecil shut his eyes.

* * *

_Footsteps echoed in the hallway, stopping at the prisoner's cell door. Great, Cecil thought, just as I was dozing off._

_He got up, facing the bars. The man on the other side was the prison therapist. He stood, smiling, hands behind his back. "Terwilliger, isn't it?"_

_He scowled. "I passed through my group therapy sessions with flying colors, I would thank you very much to remember that."_

_Above him, Bob started laughing in his "sleep."_

"_Oh, shut up!" He spat out. "You weren't even in the same group!"_

"_I _wasn't_ in a group!"_

"_Yes, yes," the therapist laughed. "And that's why I want to try out something new. We have somebody in here, who has passed as well. Er, who has _almost_ passed. Your family seems to have a very calm demeanor about them, and we want to see how our man deals with an actual group. We've decided that you're the perfect one out of your family to do this. You will be one of five, including him, in there. Don't worry, you have _all_ passed."_

"_Ha! And if I refuse?" Cecil smirked. He knew that this was just a hidden plead to become their little rat in some experiment with a group of insane men. Probably with more of those "loonies" who claimed they were cartoon characters controlled by an unseen force. _

_But, several _have_ said the same name as their creators, though nobody knows who that is. Matt Groening—Cecil would have to Google that name just for the amusement one day._

_The therapist began to walk away. "Because if you do, your sentence will be dropped from eighty-seven years to a week after the experiment ends—which should be around a month from now. Maybe less. Gives you something to think about, doesn't it?"_

* * *

"_Gah!_"

He snapped awake when Maggie plodded herself on his chest, shoving a stuffed monkey into his face. Its body was blue, the face, ears, tail, and hands and feet yellow.+

"Oh. Why, eh, thank…you?" He took it out of her hands. It had black fabric eyes, white sewn into them so that it looked like an imaginary light was shining behind that seemingly fake mind.

"Heh," He smiled. "A friend of yours?"

She smiled back at him, having taken the pacifier out of her mouth. She put her hands back on the stuffed animal, and gently pushed it onto Cecil's chest.

Almost as if saying, "_Here. Take the monkey. He'll listen to you. Go ahead and take him, he's shy. Shy and quiet. Especially quiet. Go ahead and take him, Mr. Man. He won't bite. I promise. Unless you want him to. Even then it'll be a little hard getting his jaws to open."_

Well, Cecil made up most of that. But the giving part was clear in her bright eyes.

His smile grew wider. "Thank you. Very much. You're a lot smarter than we give you credit for."

She smiled at him, to show she did indeed understand. He pulled her to his chest in a hug, sighing.

* * *

Bob sighed as he stepped into the den. Eddie padded up to him, earning a distrustful growl (from Bob—not the dog).

And, as usual, the dog simply plopped his rear end down on the ground and stared at him. With those huge, black eyes. And a deathly still tail. Those damned un-twitching black eyes that never moved from his own.

He listened to Francesca absentmindedly. Eddie's eyes bothered him deeply.

Even she took notice of her husband's silence. "Roberto—oh." She chuckled, "Why are you so bothered by Eddie?"

"Because he's _weird!_" He cried out, "He creeps me out!" Bob turned to the dog. "Why are you so fascinated with my _head?!_ In your eyes, am I some sort of giant _Kibble treat?!"_

"Leave-a the *_stupido eh cane_ alone!" Francesca pulled his shoulder back.

Judith and the two eldest Simpson children appeared in the doorway, all with grim faces.

He smirked after a few seconds of silence. "My day was fine, thanks for asking. On my lunch-break, I got kicked in the shin by a ten-year-old boy, who continued to mock my agony by saying, not actually laughing, 'ha-ha.'"

Bart perked up. "Hey, you saw Nelson! How is he? Was he with Millhouse?"

"Who?"

"Never-mind that nonsense!" Judith cut in, "We have a few questions to ask you about Cecil. You _and_ your father, as a matter of fact."

* * *

They were all seated in the den. Gino had been sent back downstairs to "entertain" his uncle and Maggie. As of right now, all three of them were at the air duct, listening in.

Robert had not yet arrived.

Lisa had been the one to ask the question:

"What _else_ do you know about Cecil?"

He rolled his eyes. "That's specific. Well, for starters, I'm positive he's my brother. As often as I've questioned it."

They had made a point by giving him the information they figured out that afternoon.

He had leaned back in his chair with a poker face. "Yes, I believe that that _is_ more specific," He grumbled. "And yes, I know exactly what you're talking about."

Bob crossed his legs, and shut his eyes.

"Neither Father nor I had wanted to tell any one of you this, but it didn't seem like such an important detail until he had that accident."

"Do you know what exactly the accident _was?_" Lisa pressed.

"Well, I honest-to-God don't know as much as you claim I do, and will just go on from the facts I have gathered from my experience."

Everybody was on the edge of their seat now. Especially Cecil, eavesdropping in the basement.

"A few days before the accident, Cecil came back to, as the other inmates put it, "the land of the living." He had been gone for a month, I heard somewhere in the "dungeons." I still re—"

"Wait," Bart said, "Dungeons? In a modern day jail?"

"It's more of the basement, really. Prisoners would call it a dungeon because you don't exactly think too highly of a prison basement," He laughed.

"Ah."

"But, I can still remember the night the inmates' therapist came to our cell. Professor Vojin. We all hated him; he shared numerous traits with the average grandmother: sickly sweet, never got mad, and always thought you would like everything he did. So, I pretended like I was asleep. Cecil," he sighed, "did not.

"Prof. Vojin came up to Cecil, and told him he would participate in a group therapy experiment with five others, for an inmate that had been in solitary confinement. When Cecil refused, Vojin said that it would cut his sentence almost _all_ the way down."

"So he bribed him?" Lisa asked.

"Almost. Cecil told me he refused the offer anyway, but I didn't see him for a full month afterwards."

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell us this?!" Judith hissed.

"Because he was _fine_ when he came back. Told Father and I he had taken part in that session after all. Until the accident, we didn't think much of it at all. But even, then, Vojin had acted out many of his so-called 'experiments.' All of the partakers were fine afterwards, nobody suffered from anything but his sickly sweetness."

"Well, what did you do after the accident?" Francesca asked.

"We went back to question that shrink, of course! But," he sighed again, "when we got there, they said he was transferred out of state."

From beneath the vent, both Maggie and Gino stared wide-eyed at Cecil. His jaw had dropped.

"Did they say where?" Lisa asked.

"I believe it was somewhere in Maine. Yes— it was Augusta, Maine."

Everybody sat back, taking it in. They were in Connecticut already, it would just be a few hours drive (IF they wanted to go).

Silence.

Then Bart started laughing.

"What the hell's so funny about any of this?" Bob said cooly.

"I thought that living with you people would be more boring than sitting through that new _Les Mis_ movie!" He chortled.

"Hey! Lisa cried out, "I happened to love that movie!"

Bart ignored her, "This is almost like that time Dad caused the EPA to put a dome over Springfield!"

"How's this like that?!" She exclaimed.

"Wait a minute," Bob said, "_Your_ family caused that?"

"Blame it on Homer," Bart said, "And I meant in the adventure sense. The plot of _this_ story has nothing to do with the government. Er. I at least _hope_ not."

"Yes yes ye," Bob said, "But _you're_ the reason we couldn't get into Springfield from England."

"Yes," Judith answered, "They're the reason why your father and I decided to get out his guns and perfect our aiming. At least it delayed your fake funeral."

He said nothing to that.

In the basement, Cecil drew back from the vent. Gino followed him. "Lo **Zio Cecil, do you-eh remember anything about what they are saying?"

"None at all," He put his hand on the back of his head. "Not even a sense of déjà-vu. I-I remember Vojin coming. But—nothing after that." He looked back up, "The only point I remember being back is the morning before my accident."

* * *

**Now . . . I can honestly say that we've gotten onto something here. :D No more writer's block, I have the rest all planned out.**

**+- That's based off of my own stuffed monkey. I've had him since I was about one or two, and still have him to this day.** ;)

***- "Stupid dog"**

****- 'Lo Zio' – 'Uncle' in Italian.**


	13. The Chapter That Goes Like This

It was now the next day.

Cecil's nightmares (that mainly consisted of being strapped down to a table and left in the darkness) ended when Maggie gave him the stuffed monkey. He decided, with Lisa, to name it 'Remember.' Oddly enough, he was able to sleep peacefully, and even said to have had his first good dream in a while.

He once again hugged Maggie.

Once Robert had gotten home the night before, he had been filled in by the others of what they had figured out. And, with a deathly glare towards his eldest son, he had told _his_ side of the story.

Though he hadn't seen Vojin come in to talk to Cecil, he still saw an important piece of the puzzle.

He was the last person to have seen Cecil before he disappeared.

Well, not the very last. And not exactly disappear. More like taken away . . . .

* * *

_Springfield Prison, one day prior to the one-month disappearance. _

A sewer-like stench filled the air of the cafeteria prison. Either caused by the molds on the walls and in the floor, or something else that should probably never be spoken of _inside_ the prison walls where you're the most prone to it.

Guards blocked the doors; there were several between whatever windows there were. They stood with their back straight, head forward, and hands twitching towards batons that were looped through their belts. Despite the darkness the molds and mildews cast over the walls, and the lack of light from the windows and twitching light-fixtures, the guards were wearing sunglasses. Mostly brown and black, though one had a pink women's Barbie brand on.

The two surrounding guards had been snickering at this one when they came in, but were now standing as the others did (only with a small smile fluttering on and off their lips).

Robert and Cecil were seated at the table in the cafeteria, the hint of a smile on the latter's lips. Neither were talking, but were listening to the other inmates' 'jibber-jabber.'

This mostly consisted of jibber-jabber about how fun it was to say jibber-jabber.

When Cecil heard some of them talking about how one of the inmates, someone named 'Rory,' had been jibber-jabbering about how he would one day escape and never come back, the hint of a smile grew to be larger than that.

He turned to Robert, "Interesting origin of the actual term 'jibber-jabber, isn't it?"

He looked up from his half-eaten food. "I don't believe I recall their origins. But do go on, I'm listening," He turned back to his food.

*"Jibber," Cecil went on, "was first used by William Shakespeare. Jabber was recorded in 1499. The term we know today was first recorded in the Oxford Written Dictionary in 1922, though that most likely wasn't the first time they were put together. They might have also been—"

One of the surrounding inmates, Snake Jailbird, turned to him. "Are you seriously, like, jibber-jabbering about jibber-jabber?"

He sighed. "Well, yes. I suppose I might have been. Why were you listening?"

Before he could say anything threatening in return, two guards came up behind Cecil.

His smirk turned all the way down. "Did I do something wrong, officers?"

The one on the left grunted. "We were ordered to take you to Professor Vojin's office."

He pursed his lips as Snake slowly slid away from him, chuckling. "I told him no this morning. You can tell him that, he'll know what I'm talking about."

"We were ordered to," He repeated, "Now come with us."

"But I said—"

"We were _ordered_ to," The guard said darkly.

Cecil locked eyes with his father before he was taken away by the guards.

* * *

Whenever Cecil finished listening to this, whether it was good or bad, he felt a memory fluttering around the far back corridors of his mind. Thing was, the doors kept shutting in his face every time he would get close.

* * *

Today, Judith and Francesca were to visit the prison and find out more about this Vojin person. Robert still had to go to work, especially since Bob had taken the day off (taking away more money than you'd think). The children, as much as they had wanted to go out, were to stay at the house and tend to "dusting."

All four made up a game consisting of a balloon and several darts, after cleaning some of the visible areas of cabinets and tables.

Back in the basement, the brothers were unsuccessfully Googling Professor Vojin. They had absolutely no results.

**Bob sighed. "Oh, Cecil. Why don't we just admit our defeat? The bastard's long gone."

"Not with that attitude we won't!" He said determinedly. But sighed under the deathly glare from his brother. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It isn't _your_ problem, so Mr. Sidekick shouldn't worry himself over it."

He looked at Cecil in disbelief. "_Excuse_ me?! So this is what your little tantrum is about? Even after you tried to blow me up in a dam, you're still jealous over the audition."

He chuckled a little. "I'm not throwing a tantrum, and I am not jealous—I am just _FED UP_," he yelled, " . . . _FED UP_ of being in your goddamn shadow all the time! You know how much I wanted to become Krusty's sidekick, but you didn't even REFUSE the job when he handed it to you on the spot because you were just _there_. You were the first to get married. You were the first to have the oriental baby Mother and Father always wanted. Whenever _I_ get around to doing anything it's already done by at least four years! Chewed _meat!"_

Bob fumed, "We can't go back and change the past, and you know that."

"Oh, you wouldn't change it! You're too damn proud, you _love_ it!"

"Let it go, Cecil!" He ran his hands through his hair, setting down the laptop.

"It was _me_ who worked as hard as he could to earn that audition! And when that was taken away, it was _me_ who worked his way back up to the top! _Me_ who worked his butt off with a group of slack-jawed yokels, just to become the chief hydrodynamical and hydroelectric engineer! But it was _you_ who ruined it for me! _You_ who just _had_ to survive the dam incident with your life! _You_ who got his big fat face on his own _toy brand!"_

He gasped, touching a finger to his cheekbone. "I do _not_ have a big fat face!"

"Oh please, I stopped counting the layers of chicken fat you store in there for winter years ago!"

Bob now approached Cecil slowly, "Well, at least _I'm_ not _spindly!_"

He approached as well, "Who are you calling spindly, fat-face?"

"_Spindly!"_

"_Fat-face!"_

"_Spindly!"_

"_Fat-face!_"

"_Take that back!"_

"_Make me!_"

"Oh, I'll make you alright," Bob breathed.

They were now about two feet apart. "I don't see you making me," Cecil crossed his arms and looked away, smug.

"Yeah? _Well here's me making you!_" He went up to Cecil and plucked a hair off of his head. Bob then started to make his way to the door.

Cecil gasped, spinning around. He ran up to him and wrapped his fingers around Bob's throat, causing _him_ to turn around and get the poor man in a head-lock.

They twisted around until Cecil had _him_ locked.

"Wait, wait Cecil!" Bob gasped, "We were supposed to be declared _sane_, for God's sake!"

He reluctantly let go. "I suppose you're—_OH!"_

Bob got him back in the head-lock, "I can't _believe_ you fell for that!"

He threw Cecil onto the bed, and jumped, strangling him.

"_Oh my God!"_ Cecil screamed, "_Oh my GOD I'm having a flashback! You're crawling into my cradle and JUMPING on me!"_

"_YOU STOLE MY MOMMY!" _Bob paused, and stopped altogether. "Oh my . . . what has become of us?" He got off the bed, and ran for the door.

Cecil lay there gasping for a moment, then rolled over and fell off the bed.

* * *

**Even if this chapter was pointless, it still made me laugh while I was proof-reading it. XD So . . . I'll let the two people who have been reviewing (and anybody else who's reading this - I know you're out there!) choose: what scene should come first in the next chapter? Judith and Francesca's research about Vojin, the after-effects of the fight, or another memory . . . ? ;)**

***- This is actually true, about jibber-jabber. I find it funny, but it's true.**

****- This was inspired by a Frasier clip, from the episode 'Author Author.' Highly recommend it; it's hilarious for those of you who have siblings. ;) **

**Sure, little brother. I don't have anything behind my back . . . . XD**


	14. Files

"I told you pretty ladies to get lost! We don't have any files on Professor Victor Vojin!" The guard immediately clamped his hand over his mouth. They hadn't said Vojin's first name.

Both women narrowed their eyes, Judith saying, *"_In thy foul throat thy liest._"

He sneered at them (earning two equally hateful glares back), and went into the back room.

A few seconds later, the officer came back into this room with a file in his hands, grunting as he sat in the grey metal chair across from Judith and Francesca Terwilliger.

"An honest tale speeds best, being wisely told,"* She warned again.

"Yeah, yeah. Shakespeare. This whatcha' wanted?" He slid the file across the table.

She flipped it open. The first page had a big picture of the doctor, with a balding head white from the camera's flash. His name was printed below:

PROFESSOR VICTOR EDMONTON VOJIN

_Talk about malevolent character clichés._

She flipped the page over, skimming through the front.

'_Areas of work: _Kentucky; New York; Connecticut; Maine_;' _

_He works up north._

'_College: _University of Virginia, degrees in psychology and business . . .'

None caught her interest but one:

'_Criminal record(s):_ None_.'_

She sighed and nodded, sliding the file back across the table. "Yes, thank you. We shall get out of your _busy schedule_ you seem to need to get back to."

"To get outta my office, or to _not_ to get outta my office! That is the question."

She turned sharply around, causing Francesca to sigh, but hurry out the door.

"Do _not_ dare insult a knighted dame with her own work!" She snapped, and turned back around, leaving the guard alone.

"Oh yeah?" He called out with uncertainty, "Well, b-beware the ides of April! Yeah! That's from . . . some play."

"That's 'beware the ides of _March,'_ from _Julius Caesar_!" But by then, she was down the hallway, almost out the door.

* * *

"You know," Lisa said, her siblings now in the basement again (but not locked in), "I'm starting to miss Mom and Dad. It's like that time we were forced to live with the Flanders'."

"Yeah," Bart said, "It kinda is, I guess. Except these people aren't trying to Baptize us."

"We don't go to bed at seven."

"Reactions to insults are _way_ more entertaining."

"And we're a lot farther away from home than ten feet." They finished together.

Lisa sighed, "At least it isn't as bad as then. _Knowing_ our parents are farther away than walking distance is less excruciating. And it's certainly more entertaining than staying with the Flanders'."

"Before we go on," Bart said, "I'd like to know why Cecil can't go back upstairs."

"I told you," he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, "Bob and I had a fight. I thought you could hear everything from up there."

"We can," He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean we listen."

"Really? We were yelling, how could you not—never mind. It's probably for the best."

Lisa smiled, playing with a piece of lint on the couch. "Our family isn't well-known for listening to other people. But if you want to talk about it, we will."

Bart chuffed, "No promises."

"No thanks. We've had worse, I suppose. Was that the front door?" He got up, the children following.

* * *

"_What?!_ You found out _nothing_ on him?!" Cecil exclaimed, "You found _nothing._"

"He had no criminal record," Judith said.

"_What?!"_

"And perfectly good college degrees in business and psychology."

"_What?!"_

"He must have changed it before he took the job at the prison. And don't say 'what' again!"

He opened and closed his mouth, then opened it again. "_Why?!"_

"We can't just drive up to Maine!" Lisa said, "With all of our luck combined, somebody would see us! With _my_ family's luck, _Mom or Dad'll_ see us!"

Bob started pacing. "Maybe—_we_ could go up there. I'm certain he'd feel a bit more threatened in the presence of his old patients. Especially mine. Well . . . No. As much as I would like to, the gas prices wouldn't be worth it if the bastard doesn't know anything. But on the other hand, if he does . . ."

"So…road trip?" Cecil grinned.

He crossed his arms. "No. I am _not_ driving all the way to Maine to ask a measly few questions that may not have any answers!"

"Why not, Papa?" Gino looked up at him.

"Yes Papa Bob," Bart looked at the man with wide, "innocent" eyes, "Tell us why you can't drive us to Maine."

"When you have gas money we can. Otherwise you wouldn't be fed for days."

He stomped out of the room, Bart following him. He was saying in a high-pitched voice, "Why **Papa Bob? _Why?_ Why won't you take us to Maine? _Why?_"

"Stop following me!"

"Don't you care about us? _Why?_ Why don't you care about us? _Why?"_

Lisa turned back to everybody, "Ignore him. But seriously—are we going to go?"

"Not a single chance," Francesca said, filing her nails, "Roberto was-eh right. We are-ah on a serious budget nowadays."

* * *

The way she said that, so nonchalantly, bothered me. "Well, Bart and I have—er," _he may have gone to the comic book stare before we left,_ "_I_ have money."

Everyone's ears perked up at that. Especially Cecil, who just looked dumbfounded. "You would do that for m—us?"

I liked it when the people who had attempted to murder my brother (and my family and I) looked at me like this. "Will it involve a temporary break from trying to kill my family?"

"My dear, if Vojin _is_ the man, and we get him, then I'll stop trying to kill you period!"

We even shook on it.

* * *

That night stroke a full two days with everybody together. Two and a half, counting the day Bob kidnapped the children.

Cecil was dreaming, having another nightmare, despite having the stuffed monkey by his nightstand.

_Cecil struggled against his restraints, eyeing the thing in the "doctor's" hands. He watched in mute horror as he added a gooey substance to the ends of the metal contacts, and snapped them into a rubber coat._

_He struggled harder against the restraints as Dr. Vojin walked over to Cecil. _

_He smiled. "Our experiment, sir, is to truly _change_ a hardened criminal."_

"_I AM changed! I swear to god, I HAVE!" Even if he hadn't before, the fear of what was going to happen in a matter of seconds certainly did._

_The "therapist" smirked and swung the metal plates in the air._

_Cecil shut his eyes. For the first time in decades, he wondered if he didn't see it, then it wouldn't happen._

He sat bolt-right up in bed, a small yell forming on his lips. He put a fist up against his mouth, breathing heavily and looking wildly around. Seeing no evil doctor or metal plates in the shadows, he slowly lay back down.

All three children watched in silence, unaware of the memory that was just unleashed.

* * *

**I know, I'm mean. But hey—it's Thursday!**

***- King Richard III, William Shakespeare.**

****- I got the 'Papa Bob' thing from Twilit Violet's 'Being Bob' story, but that was actually used under innocent circumstances. XD**


	15. Villian of the Year, People!

Whenever Cecil fell back asleep, the dream basically picked up from where it left off.

_The "therapist" smirked and swung the metal plates in the air._

_Cecil shut his eyes. For the first time in decades, he wondered if he shut his eyes, then it wouldn't happen._

_The first shock jolted through his vulnerable body, making him convulse and almost throw up breakfast. _

"_W-wh-wh-ha-hat ah-ARE you?!" His voice came out shaky and—he somehow made the connection—mentally disturbed._

"_Your sanity savior." Vojin said simply._

_Cecil screamed in as much terror as pain as a second jolt was added onto that, and realized something that terrified him to the brink of insanity:_

_There was nobody who could hear him. And if they did, they didn't care. They wouldn't come._

Lisa shook his shoulder, waking him up. "You were whimpering."

"Hey man, you look really rattled." Bart dug around his pajama pockets, bringing out a plastic case of something Cecil couldn't see. "Have a green apple-flavored tic-tac."

"Bart," Lisa elbowed him in the side. "Do you want to talk about it? It's usually therapeutic to talk about your bad dreams."

He shook his head vigorously. "N-no—not a dream. _Definitely_ not a dream."

* * *

Mostly because he didn't want to scare the children (or give them any mental images), he refused to tell them the memory. Cecil instead saved it for that morning, when everybody was seated at the table.

He got Bob alone, in one of the bedrooms, and told him about the dream. "—But I'm not sure it really is a dream so much as a memory."

Bob's eyes had widened slightly. "How can you be sure it's a memory?"

"Because I don't feel concentrated pain like that in any of my dreams."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Just a few days before the Simpson children "came" here, Cecil had stretched a leg muscle in his sleep. It was during a nightmare about being chased.

"Are you _positive?_"

"Certain," He nodded.

"Alright then. I'll tell everyone else, you can get yourse—" He reached for the doorknob.

Cecil got in front of him, "No! Eh, no. Not the children."

His hand dropped. "And why ever not?"

"They don't deserve to know _everything_ in this. Isn't it enough we brought them here?"

"So what are you suggesting?" Bob crossed his arms.

"They've already been kidnapped, we should save them the horrific mental images of me in Vojin's torture chamber."

That was true. That was very true. As much as he hated them, no one deserved that at such an early age. And if they ended up meeting Vojin face-to-face, absolutely no fear needed to be shown in their eyes or body language. He _was_ a therapist, he knew how to read people and get inside their minds. For them to know what this man was fully capable of (_if_ Cecil was telling the truth) was too dangerous, especially if they couldn't keep straight faces.

_Damn._

"Alright. Point taken. So what do you want to do about this?"

"I suggest—"

"Taking out the part where we go confront him. We still can't do that."

He shut his mouth, frowned, and opened it again. "What if we simply contact him? Lure him to _our_ turf."

"No, no. The children?"

"Mm. Well . . ."

Eddie came into the room, tongue hanging out and tail wagging. He walked right between the two men and sat down, staring at Bob.

There were several seconds of silence before Cecil pointed down, "Maybe there really _is_ something wrong with him."

As if in reply to that, Eddie turned around and made what looked like a glare at him before turning back to Bob.

"Maybe he's really a spy for Vojin. Sent here to stare at my head and eat our food."

Cecil put his hands behind his back, taking a few steps towards the door. "Try moving slowly away."

Bob took one step to the side—and Eddie growled at him. He immediately put his foot back in place as the dog continued staring. "This beast _has_ had his shots, right?"

"Probably. Eddie? Food!"

No reaction.

"Treats?"

Nothing.

"Your squeaky chew toy?"

Nada.

"I'll destroy it!" Bob warned. "That and your dog bed, so you would have to sleep on the wooden floor!"

Eddie cocked his head.

"Fine then . . . You're low on dog treats. When I go to the store later today, I won't get any."

Eddie turned and fled.

"I thought Father asked you personally to get dog tre—"

"The threat got the dog to run, let's just be thankful for that."

* * *

*Bells—well, _Christmas_ sleigh bells rung over Bob's head as he opened the door to the Kwiki-Mart. They were red and silver, just barely beginning to rust. The most part of the red paint had been scratched off.

Not that it was important. It was just fascinating to see them in the summertime.

"Thank you, come again!"

He turned his head to see Apu at the cash register (when _isn't_ he?) with—

_Oh dear lord_

"Thanks, Apu!" Marge Simpson turned, and of course saw him standing there. She gasped, "_Ah!_ Sidesho—oh, right. Sorry."

He smirked. "It's nice to see you too."

"What are you doing here?"

"Hey, hey!" Apu called out, "If you are not going to buy anything else, then please vacate the area!"

She scowled, pointing a finger at Bob, "Stay away from my children! They're at bootcamp, anyway." And left.

He smiled. For a second, out of pure habit, he had almost hid (reflexes from all of the times he had tried to kill them and the police showed up just as he was about to do it).

* * *

At least no authorities knew about him yet. Vojin carefully picked up a loaf of bread, inspecting it as if it were poisoned.

He had made sure to hide out of sight from Bob—possibly his best and longest patient. The urge to practice the experiments on him were almost irresistible.

But _no_, he _had_ to be a famous clown's _ex_-sidekick. His disappearance would be noticed. Whereas the _brother_ . . . during sessions, they would bicker to no end. Sometime during that, Vojin picked out the words "_You're still jealous that Krusty chose me instead of you!"_ Now _that_ had subconscious troubles written all over it.

So, he chose the brother. Nobody asked too many questions. Hell, it wasn't until he went to delete Terwilliger's files that he saw the man wasn't even under inmate records.

Poor guy. Only all the more easier to keep things hidden. Until things picked up when the _family_ happened to question the disappearance. So, one last "round roun' the clock," so he wouldn't talk.

And then things were even better when "the accident" occurred. He hadn't expected that to happen so soon.

However, when Vojin heard in the news that Cecil had _awoken_, he had to come back.

Had to.

Because if he remembered anything, then the experiments would be screwed and he'd never even have the chance to start all over again. Because of all the damn _cops_ he worked with! Plus, the concious mind can easily forget. The subconcious _never_ forgets. There may be no memories, but there are _instincts_, instincts Vojin had created, and he knew that. He had to do something about that before clips and pieces of memories came back, and soon.

But with the best of luck, he had found Bob Terwilliger! And now, if the luck continued to permit, he would follow the man out.

And lead him right to the latest experiment. Vojin _had_ to know, _had to_.

* * *

"But it's at an _outrageous_ expense!"

The look that the Hindu clerk gave Bob told him further outbursts would only increase the price.

"Fine, fine," He gave the clerk the money for the milk and stupid dog treats.

_Damn dog better be happy now. Just one day without treats and he jumps over me and into my dinner plate!_

"Thank you, come again!" He yelled after him. "Oh, and by the way—"

Bob turned back around.

"How is your brother doing?"

Nobody saw this, but the mad scientist (he actually preferred "Intelligent Evil Male"**) was doing a fist pump.

"Better. We think we're close to breaking the barrier. He's getting closer!" He grinned.

Vojin almost cackled. _If only you knew . . ._

"Well, I wish you and your family luck. Now—thank you, come again!"

* * *

**Long chapter. It's probably not a good thing that my evil OCs are incredibly easy to write out, is it? XD **

***- I've never actually seen sleigh bells hang above a store in the summertime before, but I do have a big clump of them (except newer). For some apparent reason, I've had Christmas music stuck in my head for some part of the day, so. Pointless, isn't this?**

****- Just for the record, I prefer "Intelligent Evil **_**Fe**_**male."**


	16. Found, but Missing

When Marge Simpson saw Bob at the Kwiki-Mart, it had only been a natural reaction to panic. With his brother's situation and everything, it would only be natural that he help support his family.

Wasn't it?

She paced back and forth. Homer had been called home, by her, when she got the call from Sunshine's Boots that Bart, Lisa and Maggie never arrived.

Never.

Santa's Little Helper and Snowball II were sitting on the living room couch, watching her pace back and forth. They now got off to trail behind her.

It was too much of a coincidence for Bob not to be behind this. Wasn't it? There were many people nowadays who would kidnap children, especially ones without adult supervision, but they would have gotten a ransom note.

_Maybe their flights were mixed up. Yes, that's it! They got on the wrong plane!_

That _had_ to be it. If not, she would have a heart attack. This time, unlike all of the other times something like this had happened, she didn't know where to begin.

Well, that would be a lie. She could start at the airport, figure out what went down there.

But she would have to wait for Homer, first.

* * *

With John Coulton blasting in the background (on the song 'I Feel Fantastic') and the window down, letting in the heated air of summer, Vojin laughed to himself. He hadn't been noticed leaving the store, and hadn't been noticed following the forest-green van.

He snaked his way around the city, being sure to stay out of Bob's sight. He even cut a few corners, blending in with the traffic with his silver Corolla (there were quite a few of them on the roads). It was only until they got to the neighborhood that he had to stay back, eyeing the license plate of the other car, and returning to the traffic.

A few minutes later, he went down the streets of the same neighborhood, looking for the same green van and license plate. Once that was done, he scribbled down the address, parked his car at the end of the street, and put on a fedora to hide his nonexistent hair (more like hiding the light that reflected off of his bald head).

Vojin went up to a window of the house—the basement window. Almost immediately he saw experiment number 40D27CT: Cecil Terwilliger. He was sitting up on a bed, playing with a baby. Vojin thought there might be two others in there, from the voices.

_Finally . . . I have found you. And soon, we will meet again._

* * *

"—And _that's_ why seventy-three is the best number ever." Lisa crossed her arms.

Bart shook his head. "I'm sorry, I stopped listening after 'seventy-three is the twenty-first prime number.'"

"Hey, you actually listened that far!"

"Yeah . . ." He rolled his eyes, "What time is it?"

"Three," Cecil answered. He gave Maggie one of her toys, and got up, stretching. "Do any of you feel like you're being watched?"

"Yes," Lisa said, "About every Sunday we do. Sometimes around seven or eight at night. Mostly around eight."

"It really _is_ creepy," Bart said, "Why do ya ask?"

"I don't know. I just feel like there's somebody outside." His eyes trailed to the window.

* * *

Vojin took a step to the side, having heard everything he needed to hear. He started for his car, mumbling to himself.

"Dammit, his idiom can be understood! If only I could get him to . . . No, no. But if he tells anybody . . ." He shook his head, opening the car door. "I'll just have to take care of it myself."

* * *

Grudgingly, Bob threw the dog treat in front of Eddie, on the floor. "Rotten canine. I pray that this keeps you away from my dinner tonight!"

Eddie launched himself for the treat, and, for once, ignored the "urge" to stare.

He grunted. "Yes, yes. Eat now, you filthy animal. Soon enough, I'll get away from you. Hopefully away from Springfield period." He turned around, going back outside. But there was something that caught his eye, and that had on his trip back home as well.

A silver Corolla, parked at the end of the neighborhood. The same one that had that hunched over man at the wheel that kept appearing in the background of his rearview mirror. As Bob watched, that same man was getting inside the Corolla and took off his hat, laying it on the passenger seat.

By doing this, he revealed a balding head. On his face, he wore the same rounded glasses all inmates at the Campbell Chunky Soup Prison saw, almost every day.

And now, by looking around, Professor Vojin made his face clear.

Bob ducked behind the car, avoiding being sighted. No, though they had no proof earlier, he knew by just appearing here that Vojin was whole-heartedly guilty.

And that meant what Cecil said about his memory was true.

So _that_ meant Bob had to get the children outta here. Including his own family.

As everything clicked into place, he went inside to warn everybody else.

* * *

They were all seated in front of the TV. Gino looked up at his father, and pointed at the screen.

Bob turned to the TV, where a picture of the three Simpson children appeared. Kent Brockman was to the side, announcing:

"And now, to repeat what I just said for no apparent reason at all, we have three missing files: Bart, Lisa, and Maggie Simpson. They have officially been missing for four days now, having supposedly been sent to 'Sunshine's Boots,' a boot camp. For two weeks. They never arrived, as the parents found out just yesterday. Here are their inspiring comments to get you people motivated."

The screen changed to Marge and Homer sitting in their home kitchen. Homer had his hands around his wife's shoulders, the other holding both of her hands.

She sniffed. "It's usually only Bart and Lisa that are gone, but now all _three_ of my children . . !"

Homer raised his fist threateningly. "If anyone out there has taken_ our _children, they're gonna _pay._" He punched his open palm with the fist.

Bart turned down the volume. "Uh—dude. Now our _parents_ know we're missing!"

"Nobody thought that the boot camp would contact our parents if we didn't show up on schedule?" Lisa got up. "Because I bet that that's what happened!"

"Will the police be here?" Gino once again looked up at his father.

Bob grimaced. "Ooh . . ." He mentally slapped himself. "Yes, yes they will be here. Soon, I bet, very soon."

"_What?!_" Everybody jumped up.

"While I was getting _Eddie's_ dog treats," he glared at the dog, who snarled right back, "I…happened to run into your mother on the way in."

"Do'h!" All three Simpsons children face-palmed.

"And if you didn't like that," he turned to his family, "then I bet none of _you_ are going to enjoy the news that I have. Particularly you, Cecil."


	17. Hopelessness

**I've had this one written out for a while now, and just can't resist posting it earlier than planned. Okay, mostly because I got confused about which chapter was which. XP**

* * *

They immediately started packing, even with Bob and Francesca helping. There really wasn't much to pack, though. Just a few of Maggie's toys, a few strewn out clothes, and that was that.

Francesca mistakenly grabbed the stuffed monkey from Cecil's bed, and handed it to Maggie as they were rushed out the door and into the car. Cecil stayed in the basement as everybody went outside.

"Wait, wait wait!" Lisa was pushed into the car by Bart, who followed. "We can't just leave like this!"

"What, do you want a goodbye kiss?" Bob slammed the driver's door, starting the engine. "We need to get you three out of here." He eyed Vojin's car, which was still parked there.

The actual man himself was nowhere to be seen.

This only increased the urge to get the children to safety before the therapist mistook them as witnesses to all of this. And, as much as Bob may have hated them, he would never put _that_ on anybody. Especially with everything else that had happened to Cecil, what that maniac had done.

"Look," he said softer this time, "even if you want to stay now, we need to get you out of the line of fire. Because God only _knows_ what else happened in the dungeons, and what he could do to you three."

"But we didn't _do_ anything!" Bart protested.

"What makes you think he'll listen to _that_ plead?" He rolled down the window, sticking his head out and pointing to Vojin's car. "_That_ is his car! Find out of the man is anywhere near us! And if he _is_ . . ."

"Vendetta!" Gino piped up, taking out a knife.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the basement, Cecil clutched his head in his hands. His eyes squeezed shut as yet another memory passed through his mind, this time bringing a great deal of the memories prior to the long month with it **(the ones he hadn't remembered before, but we've seen)**.

_The guard led Cecil down the seemingly endless corridor, turning past all of the jail cells, until they got to a door. It was the therapist's, reading in bold letters 'Dr. Vojin.'_

What an ugly name.

_But he didn't say anything out loud. There was a lot of meaning in words, of which must be watched carefully. They led him inside._

_There was a desk right across from the doorway, with a man hunched over some paperwork, frowning slightly. There were bookshelves on either side of him, a plant in every corner, and that was it._

_Dr. Vojin looked up and smiled._

_Cecil didn't smile back. "Well? Where is everybody?"_

"_They'll be here. In the meantime, do you know about the infamous subconscious mind?" The doctor asked, still smiling._

_He shifted some. The guards were still right behind him. "Well, yes. Of course. But that doesn't—"_

"_Are you aware of how everything that is you is made up inside that state of mind?"_

_He frowned some. "Yes, of course. And that every single memory and second you have ever lived is stored inside there. And that wine tastes good. And that I would absolutely _love_ some right about now."_

_Dr. Vojin's smile grew wider. Cecil now took a step back. "And do you know how hard it really is to change a personality of a person? Especially one as complicated as yours. It wouldn't take much to change any regular person with a perfectly sane mind, would it now? However, we're in a _prison_. And you seem to have an unusually large temper, just the same as your brother."_

_Cecil's eyes widened. He said nothing._

"_There is always a reason as to why a hardened criminal is who he is. And it generally takes—well, as it is in "Touching Spirit Bear," it takes a drastic measure to change a personality of a criminal. We do have an experiment in mind, Mr. Terwilliger." He got up, walking across the room to stand in front of Cecil. "But it is not exactly with a group."_

_Cecil said nothing._

"_Bring him to the Down Under. We start as soon as he gets there."_

Cecil 'woke up,' gasping. He got up and started running for the door, hollering, "I remembered him! Vojin _is_ the culprit! I remember how I got to the—" He swung open the door, and halted.

Because standing right there, right in front of him, was Professor Victor Edmonton Vojin. The madman was holding up a white rag.

As soon as Cecil opened his mouth to call out for help, he was shut off by the chloroform. The last thing he saw was Eddie, the poor thing passed out of the floor as well.

"You remember something, huh?" Vojin asked, "Well, we'll just fix you right up. Along with those children."

He blacked out.

* * *

Cecil woke up tied to a chair. Panic immediately flooded his mind as everything came back in a wave of pain; the entire room was pitch black.

His neck snapped as Vojin spoke from behind him, turning on a light. "Welcome. Welcome to my home _sweet_ hotel room."

Cecil started struggling against his restraints as the "therapist" pulled up a table. The same table from the dungeon.

With all of its tools in almost the exact same position.

_Keywords here: TOOLS._

He watched helplessly as the maniac picked up yet another needle, smiling. "Remember this one?"

He said nothing.

"It was how I fixed you in the first place."

"My memor—" He stopped himself.

"Yes, your memory. Sort of like mind control, actually. Okay, so it really _is_ mind control. Hold still!"

The lilac liquid was injected into his forearm. Cecil's face went white as his body froze in complete, mortal terror. "NO!"

"With this, you're gonna help me clean up this little mess we've made."

"WE?!"

"Those children. There were places in that basement for their beds. This means they're witnesses, I know you've talked some about our time together. The simple fact that you can talk _period_ means that they know too much. And I can't have that, not now. Don't you see?" He held out his arms. "I'm on the verge of a breakthrough, with the human mind. And with that, I can _cure_ hard-headed convicts so that they can never, ever do any harm again. But with the right tools . . ." He began to laugh as Cecil lost consciousness. "You can become putty in my hands!"

* * *

_Cecil looked up painfully, listening to his neck crack as he did so. Vojin was back. He was holding a needle._

_Another one._

"_You wanna get outta here, don't you?"_

_Cecil said nothing._

"_It's been a month. We've been through most of our experiments."_

_Cecil said nothing. The only way the "therapist" knew he understood was by the way his eyes clouded over in memories._

"_So I'm giving you a choice. A fair one, I promise."_

_Silence._

"_If you want out, I promise to give you your freedom. If this," he held up the needle, "is in your system. You can inject it yourself, or wait for me to come back. It'll only be a few minutes, anyway. I need to get the clipboard for this."_

_He set down the needle and walked out of the same room Cecil had been in for a full month now. He picked it up, inspecting the piece of plastic. There was a lilac colored liquid in it._

_But then he remembered everything that had happened to him in these past few weeks. From electrode therapy, to sitting in an ice bath, to drug-induced horrific nightmares about suicidal attempts to his own life (which Vojin claimed to be a GOOD mental change—it promised it GUILT about his past actions). Cecil didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to block out this room, that man, everything that had been done to him. Yes, he had changed. He had grown to fear everything that moved, fear the loneliness of this room, fear the restraining table, but most importantly: he had learned to fear Vojin._

_He felt tears tickle his cheeks as the needle was injected into his system._

_He took it back out and threw it across the room with a weak moan, leaning against the wall._

"_So this is Hell," He whispered. Cecil let out a dry, empty laugh. "This is how the world will rid of me—in a cage."_

_But the chemical from the needle set in, and began to affect him._

_He frowned as something in his brain felt like it was _moving_. He looked down at his hands. He grunted and swallowed, shifting a little. Vojin stepped in through the door. "Ah. I see that the process is happening faster than we anticipated. Explain to me what you are feeling."_

No remorse. No regrets—no GUILT about what he's done to me!

_Cecil tried crawling, hoping that he could kill the man who did this to him. Suddenly, his entire body was in agony—mostly in his head._

"Agh, god!" _He looked at Vojin,_ "What is this?!"

_The therapist chuckled, watching the poor man. "You'll find out. You have been very progressive in our little studies, haven't you? Even if I've been sent back a few weeks. Well, it'll just have to do, even if I'm not finished yet. People have started asking about your whereabouts. This'll help with that. Maybe I should add a little more twang to it—I've been sent back in my work a few weeks because of you. Did I say that before?"_

_Cecil tried to crawl away, tried to get away from this waking nightmare. "__**What did you do?!"**_

_Vojin knelt down at Cecil's level. "It weakens brain cells. Particularly _memory_ cells. I've had to use it on a couple of other . . ._ unfortunate_ prisoners to make sure it worked.__ What you are feeling right now is your system fighting this. Just relax, my friend. We'll have you _cured_ in no time . . ."_

_Everything went black._

* * *

**We're nearing the end . . . . This is the longest chapter I've written for this story! Even the next chapter isn't that long (I have it written out). Reviews are awesome!**


	18. Surprise!

"What will we say to Mom and Dad," Lisa asked, "when they see _you_ here?"

"What makes you think I'll be there long enough for them to see me?" Bob abruptly stopped the car, in front of Ned Flanders' house. "Just walk down to your home, and explain how we're innocent!"

"And what are you gonna do about Vojin?" Bart unbuckled himself, and then Maggie, opening his side of the door.

"Bart. You don't spend over ten years as a homicidal maniac without learning a few things about hunting down your enemies," He smiled wickedly. "Now go. We'll be fine, just get out! There you go."

"Will you ever try to kill us again?"

He looked solemnly at them. "Perhaps. If we ever cross each other again and it ends up like Salsiccia, then most certainly."

"Good luck dealing with the homicidal therapist!" They waved as the corolla drove out of sight.

The children ran home, wiped their feet, and knocked on the door.

* * *

_Kill kill KILL_

_So close now . . . _

_Close._

_He said to kill them_

_KILL_

* * *

"Oh, I'm so glad you're home!" Marge was bombarding all three children with hugs and motherly worries and questions. "Where were you? Did you get on the wrong flight? Miss it? Or did," her eyes got dark, "_Sideshow Bob_ get you three?"

Bart laughed. "Ah, Mother dearest. Of _course_ we missed our flight!"

"Well," Homer said, "Lesson learned: we'll never get any of you on another plane again! Now let's all go out for some delicious ice-cream!"

"Wait, Dad!" Lisa came between him and the door. "Bob _did_ get to us, and took us to his family, but none of them hurt us in any way, shape, or form! Aside from that one thing when those boxes fell on me and twisted my ankle. But let us explain. Do you remember what happened to Bob's brother . . . ?"

* * *

_Close now SO CLOSE_

_Pain_

_The pain will go away_

_He said so_

_The pain will go when they go._

_He said so._

_SO CLOSE NOW_

* * *

"—And that's why Bob brought us back." Bart finished. "So we just need to lay low for a while, and avoid a fat, balding man. Besides Homer."

"WHY YOU LITTLE—!"

* * *

_. . ._

_. . ._

_I am here._

* * *

"Homer!" Marge exclaimed, "Homer, stop it!" She pried the man's fingers from Bart's neck. "We still need to confront the Terwilligers about this. And what did that therapist do to Cecil?"

The front door was kicked down. "_PAIN_." Cecil spoke through clenched teeth, drawn back in a snarl. His hair was messed up, and clothes dirty. In both hands was a butcher knife, gripped so tightly his knuckles turned a pale yellow.

But the eyes were red at the corners, and otherwise a mixture of blankness and hatred.

They all gasped, and Lisa took a step forward. "Cecil?"

A low growl escaped his lips. He took one step forward; the Simpsons all took a step back.

"Pain?" Bart asked, "Are you okay?"

His lips trembled, and broke out into what could only be a madman's grin. "He _said_ it will go away. He _said_ I will be _cured_ in no time!"

"Who said it?" She didn't need to know the answer. Somehow, Vojin _had_ gotten to him. Lisa exclaimed, "Is everyone else alright? How did Vojin get to you?"

His eye twitched, and the family took a step backwards. "He'll _cure _me. He _said_ so."

"What?"

He said in a sing-song voice, "I sent his studies ba-ack!" He stopped, "Back a _month!_"

* * *

Maggie slipped into the living room, where their bags were. She dug into hers, taking out the one thing that would stop this madness.

* * *

"Cecil," Lisa took a step forward, "this isn't you."

"Of course not!" He grinned again, re-gripping the knife, "The _pain_, little girl, the _pain_. I've been very _progressive_ in our little _studies_."

"Do you even know what my name is?"

"He said I would be _cured,_" He raised the knife, "if I kill the children!"

"Not even over my dead body you won't!" Homer stepped up. "Hey, where are Santa's Little Helper and Snowball II? The whole point of having an animal is to guard the house!"

"You locked them outside, Homey." Marge sighed.

"Do'h! Then run into the next room!"

They ran into the kitchen as Cecil lunged for the nearest person, but was only able to hit the wall and get the knife stuck. He stumbled some, having put so much force into the swing and from not having a clear head.

Cecil got the knife, taking a step back. "He said I'd be _cured!"_ He looked in both rooms, and ran the opposite way the family ran, into the living room.

Maggie was there. The pacifier squeaked in the usual way as her eyes narrowed. Her arm was behind her back, hiding the weapon of choice.

He snarled, raising the knife above her head. "_The pain WILL go away."_

Just as he brought it down, she outstretched her arms with one item in them. The stuffed monkey, Remember, was in her hands.

He stopped in mid-swing, eyes wide. A small gasp escaped his lips as the pain in his head got worse.

A sharp twang of it nailed into his mind like a railroad spike—but then . . . it got better. Memories slowly returned. His headache went away.

_Pain . . . Gone._

He looked at the knife, and weakly threw it across the room.

_He said it would go away . . ._

_Only if I killed the children._

A sudden realization came: what children? How had he known which children? The man had told Cecil where they were, he knew that.

"_I'll have you_ cured_ in no time."_

"He said I'd be cured."

Several particular memories came back now. He was always in a room. A dark room. And pain. Always pain.

Caused by—

Caused by _him_.

"He said the pain would go – go away." He dropped to his knees, staring at the baby, and took the stuffed monkey. "He _said _a _lot_ of things, too."

From the kitchen, a woman yelled, "Homer?! Where's Maggie?!"

"What the—I thought she was with Grandpa!"

"He _left_, Homer. Before the kids even came back!"

"_Do'h_!"

* * *

"Roberto!"

"Francesca? What is it?!" There was panic in her voice. He didn't like what that would most likely lead to.

"Cecil eez gone-eh! And Eddie eez passed out on the floor, in front of the basement door! It was wide open."

"The _one time_ that dog doesn't immediately attack . . ." He grumbled off, racing back home. Judith had taken the car, where his phone unfortunately was. "How the hell could he even get away when the car was right in front of us?! Have you told anybody else?"

"Your father knows. I do not-a know where your mother eez."

"She'll be fine. Get inside and shut the door. I think I may know where Vojin is going next."


	19. Where Is He?

The entire Simpson family (minus Maggie) jumped down the staircase two steps at a time, with Marge in the lead. She took the shotgun from Homer, running into the living room. "_Get away from my—_huh?"

They were both on the brown sofa, a stuffed monkey between their bodies. Cecil threw up his hands. "It's okay! I'm not crazy anymore! Well," he thought for a second, "No, I'm not drugged-crazy anymore!"

She still didn't lower the gun. "What happened?"

He grimaced. "I never wish to speak of it again."

"It's okay, Mom," Lisa gently eased Marge's arm down, and turned to Cecil. "And hopefully you'll never have to bring it up again," she sat next to him, "but what about Vojin? What do we do about him? And did he hurt anybody at the house?"

He gazed into space now, frowning slightly. "No—no, he didn't harm anybody. Nobody that I saw, anyway, besides Eddie."

The children and Homer gasped.

"He was chloroformed."

They let out sighs of relief. Homer wiped his forehead. "Thank God!"

"But I think you need to watch yourselves, for sure." He got up, and pointed to the gun. "Keep that close by you, whatever happens!" He jumped a little when Marge raised the gun again, "Ah-ah! Not at me!"

"Where are you going? Homer and I just found out what's happening, so now you decide to warn us to stay home?" Marge crossed her arms. "Why do the children get to have all the excitement?"

"Yeah!" Homer held up the gun. "We miss out on everything, but when it comes to psychotic killers…" He cocked it. "We're the people to ruin their lives!"

"That's for sure!" Cecil chuckled. "So there's no way of stopping you from coming with me?"

They all shook their heads.

He smiled. "Good, because I didn't take a car here."

On their way out, Homer asked him, "So, where _are _we going?"

"To our home. I want to see if Vojin hurt anybody else."

"And then?"

He turned to him and grinned wickedly. "_And then we find out where he is_."

* * *

Meanwhile, the Terwilligers were all in the living room.

"So _nobody_ knows where she is?" Bob ran his hands through his hair.

"The car is gone," Robert said, "does that give you any clue?" He shook his head. "She must have gone to find them."

"Or worse . . ." Francesca held Gino in her arms, pacing along with Bob.

He spun around. "Don't you dare say that! Mother took her car, he didn't . . . _shouldn't_ have…"

"But if she did follow him, and something-a happened?"

"Vendetta?" Gino swiped the knife through the air.

"Indeed, Gino." Bob said, "A hard vendetta on that bastard."

Somebody knocked on the door.

Bob took in a breath, reaching for a hand pistol that was on the table - Robert grabbed it first and approached the front door before anyone could say no. He looked out the window before rushing to unlock the door.

The entire Simpson family - including the parents - stood behind Cecil. He smiled, "Father! We have bad news, good news and then more bad news. The good news is that I'm not crazy anymore and I remember what Vojin did to me." The rest of the family gathered around the door. "The bad news: _I remember what Vojin did to me." _He looked down, and then back up. "More bad news," He paused, and looked everybody in the eye before continuing with, "We don't know where Vojin is and what he knows about me and the Simpsons."

"Guess what?" Bob said, "Neither do we. Nor do we know where Mother is." He crossed his arms and pointed to Marge and Homer. "And I hope you two are filled in, because this is a long story nobody would care to repeat."

"_We_ had to," Lisa exclaimed.

"Not now!"

"Well," Cecil said, "Where was she last?"

"The car is missing," He said flatly, "She's somewhere between the next neighborhood and Shelbyville!"

"Oh . . . Should we come inside to discuss this?"

"Of course, excuse me."

The front door was shut and unlocked, in case she came back.

* * *

**Sorry, but scratch what I said to Twilit Violet: Vojin ain't gone yet. ;) As I've said, I don't want this story to end so soon. Sorry it's short, I got lazy (and a headache).**


	20. Knives, Guns, and Other Assorted Weapons

**Just for the record, for those of you who don't know, a picture of Vojin is up on my DA account (I'm still Sideshow Cellophane on there, too). And now: enjoy another chapter of the story plot that I'm trying to drag out!**

* * *

Vojin took out his Swiss army knife, and flicked out the screwdriver from that. He placed it under the windowsill, and pushed down on the opposite end. The window flew open; a silvery click and thump rose to his ears as the lock broke and landed on the carpet.

A dog began to bark, and he came running into the room with teeth bared—Vojin took him out the same way Eddie was. The same happened with the black cat that made the mistake of running into the chloroform just as the dog had.

He carried the poor animals to the basement (there just seemed to be something about those nowadays…), went into the kitchen, grabbed the knives, and put those in there too. He locked the door, and took out a gun from his lab coat (that seemingly never came off since his experiment mishap).

_Well, this experiment will soon be over with. _

He sat down on the second-to-bottom step of the staircase with the pistol in his hand and legs crossed. He smiled, going over the plans in his mind over and over again.

* * *

"—And that was how I spent my month," Cecil nodded at the end of the sentence. He sighed and muttered, "Best damn time of my life."

The families were on opposite sides of the living room, children on the floor. Only two people from the opposing groups sat together, and they were Marge and Cecil.

"Oh," Marge put her hand around his shoulder, "It's fine now."

He leaned away in disgust, "Thank you, but don't touch me."

She took her arm down. "Well!"

"He was like that before, Marge," Bob said, "Nothing against you."

Cecil scooted a little farther away on the couch. "I don't like people touching me. I don't know what kind of bacterium or virus you could be carrying."

Bob grinned. "I almost considered missing that at one point."

"Ah, all I remember is my mind turning to _mush_. Thoughts kept wandering from one to another, I don't miss a thing." He waved his hand.

"Hey," Homer said, "I know that feeling! It's like when you get drunk, right?"

He grimaced. "Eh. A bit more clear-minded. You remember everything you did and thought."

"Ah. So . . . what was it like losing your mind?"

"Homer!" Marge elbowed him.

There was another awkward silence for a while before Cecil turned to him and said, "It was a sort of bliss, actually."

"Cool!"

"Like the old saying, ignorance is bliss? It _was_ a lot like being drunk. Or hyper."

"Wow. I wouldn't expect people like you to get hyper."

He shrugged. "The urge comes and goes . . . to drink, I mean."

"Are you two seriously having this conversation?" Bob jumped, "Our mother is missing, and there's an insane psych-therapist on the loose!"

"So that means we can't break the awkward silence with small talk?"

"No! We should be out there, trying to find the killer!"

Another silence.

Bart broke it with, "You mean psycho-therapist? Because you said, all of his patients came back alive and well."

He growled.

Cecil pointed to Bart with his thumb. "The kid has a point. Makes you wonder why he decided to experiment on me."

"Can we please change the subject? Or do you feel comfortable talking about this to _them?"_

"At least when they were here, my nightmares went by un-ignored and you unlocked the _basement!_"

"Well you bit and bared teeth! Especially after the nightmares."

"I _snapped _at you. There _is_ a difference."

"This is just like when you two were children," Robert interrupted, "and it's still as annoying as it was thirty years ago!" He placed a hand on Eddie's back, petting the animal.

Eddie was on his lap. The poor thing refused to walk, let alone move his head up to be able to stare at Bob. For now he settled on the chin, instead of eyes.

More silence.

"Dad," Lisa said, "didn't we leave Santa's Little Helper and Snowball II outside the house?"

"_Do'h!_"

Marge jumped up. "I'll go!"

Homer settled into his seat. "I won't!"

"Well, I'm going."

"Now Marge," Bob said, "it may not be the best idea to go alone…."

"As much as I would _love_ to stay in here with the people who kidnapped my children," she paused to put on her coat, "I want to get out of here. It's a little awkward when we're all together and you're not trying to kill us. No offense, but it feels tense."

Cecil crossed his arms. "None taken. And I agree," he got up, "I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to—"

"Nonsense. I want to, and I only tried to murder two of your children because it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"What about the second time, at the funeral?"

"My family proposed the idea to me while I was in prison."

"So?"

He opened the door for her and scoffed. "I wanted to get out of jail!"

* * *

The dog had awoken now. The barking annoyed Vojin, but it would be worth it soon enough. And, on the even brighter side, he was able to think clearly. Resolve the anger from his mishap, and think through it. So, the plan was now this:

Step one: kill the witnesses.

Step two: kill the experiment.

Step three: make sure to get Terwilliger alone.

Step four: swap steps two and three.

He adjusted his seating on the staircase, and tensed up when a car passed slowly.

_The cops? Have they called them? Do they know I'm here? HOW do they know I'm here?!_

The automobile pulled up into the _next_ driveway.

He relaxed and sighed.

_No lights are on. The dog has now stopped barking. They'll have absolutely no idea that I'm here until the gunshot goes off. At least until they see the face of death inside my own. _

He smirked. "The face of death inside my own . . . I rather like that." He crossed legs and started chewing on his left thumbnail. "I like that a lot."

* * *

"—And 'jabber' was first recorded being used in 1499."

"Mm-hm."

"They were both put together in the Oxford Written Dictionary in 1922, although they were most likely put together earlier."

"Mm-hm."

"And then—"

"Is there an end to this?" Marge didn't take her eyes off the road.

"No, I just wanted to see how long you could stand it." He smiled. "Nobody ever lets me finish the last sentence."

"Well, what is the last sentence?"

"I don't know. Nobody lets me finish it."

They pulled up into the driveway. Marge unbuckled and hopped out, running to the front door. She called out, "We're here!"

Inside the house, unbeknownest to the both of them, a cocked gun trained on the door.


	21. Confrontation

**Imagine this with a thunderstorm in the background…there have been a bunch lately at my home, so Internet has been down. Sorry.**

**On the bright side: longest chapter for this story yet! Even better: The Simpsons is (from what I heard) going onto Season 25! Here's to them and 24 awesome seasons so far!**

* * *

Homer drummed his fingers against the couch. "Why are we just sitting around again?"

"We no longer have a car," Bob muttered. "Shouldn't have let them take it. And Mother won't answer her cell phone." He started pacing again, looking at a machete.

"Don't you have another car?"

He shook his head. "Vojin stole the keys to that one on his way out of our house."

"Well, it's okay, they'll be back in a few minutes. But isn't there anything else we can do?"

"Not for the time being, no. Except wait for them to come back, I suppose."

"Well, can we make small talk while we do that? The children are. Or even go outside, and see if there's anything there?"

The kids were all in the basement, looking for anything that might have left a clue as to where Vojin would be.

"Doubtful. Cecil said they were upstairs when Vojin broke in."

"And we do know there was a clue," Robert said, "He drove off in a silver Corolla. We don't know which direction."

"Oh." He shifted. "I heard something about him having dreams—Cecil, I mean. What was that about?"

"It was his subconscious mind trying to release the memories from that month," Bob said. "Or that serum wearing off slowly."

"What were in the dreams?"

"Nightmares. He wouldn't talk about them that often."

"Why not? It feels better to talk about your nightmares to somebody, or bad memories, or else you'll just keep them locked away inside of you to rot."

Everybody looked at him.

"And then things'll get even worse, and that wouldn't help the whole memory thing, would it?"

They looked back down when he looked up.

"Would it?"

"We don't know what was going through his mind, Homer," Bob said. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, then it's just that dark that he wouldn't want to put anything inside anyone else's heads."

"But I've had those dreams too, and I still share them with Marge! Like that one dream I had of wanting Kelsey Grammer and Dan Castellaneta's autograph and _meeting_ them, when they came into town." He shuddered, "That was one of the worst nightmares I've ever had! But she took it fine, and it wasn't the end of the world. Actually, with each problem we face in our marriage, it brings us all a little bit closer. Marge and I and the kids, we're all left together in the middle to deal with the problem we've brought on, and we get out of it together. Like when Marge accidentally went to an online dating site for people having marriage problems. I was really trying to rebuild the train we—"

"Named me after!" Came Lisa's reply from the basement. "Out of everything you could have named me after, you named me after a train. Even if we do have fun with it—"

"It was your mother's idea!" He called back, "Point being, we get out of everything together and it all ends up well. Even that Ben guy and his wife ended up together in the end."

"Touching. Very touching—however, when my family clashes with yours, you _do_ end up on top. _Every single time_. And Cecil has never exactly been the sharing type anyway," He laughed. "Even if he wanted to share the darker ones, his mind _was_ mush for a while."

"Explain."

"Did you not-eh listen to us?" Francesca asked, "We explained it twice."

He shrugged. "Things go through my head when people are talking."

"Like-eh what?"

He stared into space for a few seconds.

She frowned and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey! Wake up!"

He jumped, "_Pie!_ Wait, what? Whadja' say?"

"Nothing important."

"Well then," Robert smiled, "May I remind you all that our family—or _families, _in this case—don't let anything like this slide by without a proper fight?"

* * *

"We're here!" Marge took the keys out of her purse in a rush, and turned the lock; the door popped open. She dropped the keys as they were taken out. "Woops!" She leaned over to get them, simultaneously opening the door.

A gunshot went off.

The bullet grazed by where her head would have been. They both froze in shock, and then Cecil pulled her away from the door, pulling out a gun.

She did a double-take. "Why did you bring that?"

He put his finger to his lips, and called out, "Vojin!"

The door swung open to reveal the now-famous 'psycho' therapist, with an ugly smirk and a hand pistol. "Hello, Terwilliger."

"Professor." He nodded once, keeping both guns within eyesight. "Where is my mother?"

"Now, now." He took a step forward.

Cecil pushed Marge behind him, and took a step back.

But he held his arm and gun steady and aimed at the doctor's head. "Where is she?"

"It's a shame that didn't hit you," He broke their stare to look at the small stream of smoke coming out of his pistol. "But it _would've_ hit . . . Shame. Awful shame."

"Avoiding the question, are we?"

"Avoiding it like the plague."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I can understand you now. Your words make sense. That isn't good."

"For you."

"Or can you understand me? Do you know who I am? Because I can _help_ you. We all want to _help_ you."

"God _damn_ you."

"He did a long time ago."

"Should I do something?" Marge backed a step away from the draw. "I feel like I should do something."

"It's not your fight," Vojin said, "Not unless you want in on our family feuds. I don't know where your mother is. Therapist's truth, I thought she was with you. Or somewhere in the neighborhood when you were looking for me."

"Marge, get out of here. Tell the others if you can." He never took an eye off of the man. "Why _did_ you decide to test on me, of all the prisoners in there?"

"You were the perfect guinea pig."

"Oh?"

"Yep. You weren't as insane as Bob was. Didn't snap as easily."

"I keep a firm wall up. Marge, _go_."

She got into the car, but didn't drive away.

"But you weren't as sane as, say, your parents."

"You want to talk about walls, _they're_ the strongest people I know of."

"But you were like a thorn on a rose. You fascinated me."

"Thorns fascinate you? _I_ fascinate many people on mental levels."

"You snapped that day, on the dam. But you're so . . ."

"Sane now? That was just a bit of insanity. But it _was_ mostly for the money."

"No. Bitterness. Bitterness from those sidekick auditions, more than a decade ago."

Cecil shrugged. "It had been my life-long dream, and I saw it explode in a burst of cream and crust. I'm literally quoting what I told Bob on the matter."

"Well, it caught my attention. How long your family can hold a grudge. Actually, your entire family caught my attention. But you especially."

"That doesn't sound like a compliment."

"Oh, but it is. I . . . well, I'm a prison therapist. It's my job to crack the toughest nuts. No offense."

"None taken." A smooth and steady voice, throughout the whole conversation.

"When your cases were handed over to me, _that_ was when it first started."

"I'm blushing."

"I was able to figure all of you out, _except_ for you. Out of all the prisoners that I have handled, I know their patterns. It all started from a little spark, something that makes them evil."

"Evil isn't born. It's made. I think _Once Upon A Time_ made lives easier with that quote."

"True. But you made me curious to _really_ crack the toughest nut. After all, you are one of a kind. I know _all_ patterns in a madman's mind, and I'm _proud_ of it! I know what you did and what caused it—but I don't know—augh! _Why!_ _I know WHY, but I just don't understand—!"_

"Losing your mind, Professor?" He smirked. "I think you need professional help."

"Touché. So, when I couldn't crack yours, I decided to take matters into my own hands."

"And treat me like a lab rat. To bring me down to a level you'd understand."

"Precisely. Compacting the facts."

"But how did you know the serum would work? If you've used it before, then there must be others like me."

"Not really," he shrugged, "I just used it on the toughest, more violent, minds. And then . . . well, you got the lesser boost of it."

"I got the lesser?" He cocked an eye. "Hard to believe. I completely lost my mind in twelve seconds."

"Indeed. Do you remember Steven? The one that eats people's faces?"

"But he came out _fine_. _All_ of your patients did."

"Let me explain. He wouldn't stop fighting. We had to chain him down, basically. I gave him the full dose of the serum."

"Which is?"

"Three injections. You only got one."

"Oh. How nice."

"He went from a wild lion to a drooling poodle. He was like putty in my hands. I could tell the most insane criminal minds anything I wanted them to do, and they'd do it! My biggest accomplishment in psychology yet."

"Your mother must be so proud . . ."

He laughed. "Obviously, it's worn off on you. I had to let you go immediately after the injection, while your memory was still fading. I was watching you that day, at lunch. Right before you had the "stroke?" Because that was the day I let you go."

"How didn't I remember?"

"Because that month was slowly fading away. I told you to forget. The injection finally hit your head after lunch, didn't it?"

"Like a thorn going right into my frontal lobe."

He grinned, and licked his lips. "Heh. I wasn't expecting that strong a reaction. It only reacts that way to the criminals with a violent background, I suppose, with _more_ than one injection . . . you still confuse me. One shot shouldn't have made you overreact that way. Was it painful?"

He said nothing.

"Because Steven went down screamin' and crying."

Cecil said nothing.

"It's horrible to see a grown man cry. Especially as hard as he did."

"Shut up." He spoke softly this time.

"You? You were a tough one. Especially at first."

"Shut UP and don't move."

"You never shed a tear. Not with me in the room, at least."

"Shut _UP_, dammit! Marge _GO!_"

She snapped out of the watching-a-soap-opera-like trance and started the engine.

"It wasn't until the second week that you finally stopped banging on the door every moment and _chance_ you got! Like a trapped animal!"

Cecil's gun went off, and Vojin's pistol flew across the yard as he bent down and gripped his right hand with a few curses. He staggered back, towards the fence.

Marge sped away into the distance.

"I _said_ shut up dammit." He spoke through clenched teeth again.

"I can't move it." Vojin looked back up at Cecil. "Nice job, Terwilliger. That was my injecting hand."

"I'll kill you right now. You have it coming. For a long time, you've had it coming."

He started laughing. It was a madman's cackle that echoed into the sky. Like the Joker's from Batman. "I _have_ had it coming," he nodded. "For a _long_ time, I _have_ had it coming. But you know what?"

He flew over the street side in three seconds flat with more cackling, and into the other side of the neighborhood.

He cried out into the sky as he did so, "_Only the devil may bring me down now!"_

The cackle did not die down for a few more seconds.

Cecil dropped his outstretched arm. "Damn."

He swiftly went inside the house and to the phone as the neighbors came out to see what the commotion was all about.


	22. A Deadly Spider in the Dark

With '_Only the devil may bring me down now!_' echoing in his head, Cecil dialed the house phone to his own home. It was picked up almost immediately by Lisa. "Miss Judith?"

"Guess again."

"Cecil? Why are you calling? Where's Mom? And why is Santa's Little Helper barking—"

"There isn't any time for that. Marge is driving back to the—_that_ house as we speak."

"Why?" She gasped, "Was Vojin there?"

"Yes, and he just ran off. Nobody was hurt, Marge ran off before he could do anything, but he _is_ out there. I don't know what he'll do next, but he may or may not have my—my mother."

"You don't have a car, do you?"

"No. Marge left a minute before Vojin ran off."

"Okay, because we don't have one either. He stole the keys when he drugged you."

"Fine then. Does she have her phone on her?"

"Hold on," There was a few muffled voices as she asked somebody on the other end. She came back, "No. Dad has it."

He sighed in frustration, "_Why_ would _he_ have your _mother's_ phone?"

"He broke his at Moe's the other night. We thought you would be at the house for more than a few minutes, so she gave him hers'. Sorry. Can't you wait?"

"It isn't at the top of my to-do list."

"Do you have anything else you can do? Track him down? Anything?"

"He was across the street before I could think. I don't believe he is anywhere near he—oh. Unless he has the keys, I can find his car. Don't go anywhere!"

"No kidding."

He put the phone back on the hanger, and listened to the dog barking for a little while longer. Slightly quieter than that was the murmur of gossip spreading through the neighborhood by its inhabitants about the shot going off.

He drew back into the living room.

Of _course_ he would have the keys! The corolla was probably parked somewhere in the general area where he was running to. Still, it wasn't worth hoping for. Vojin was smarter than just running to nowhere.

Cecil went into the living room, and sat down. He picked up the stuffed monkey, looking it over. For some reason, 'Remember' fit as a name. It had soothed the nightmares down to simple dreams, and had caused him to remember that month and come back to the land of reality.

Even if the memories from that month coming back weren't exactly a good thing.

However, there were still issues left over.

_Why did I react the way he did to that serum? Was Vojin lying, or does he really not know where Mother is? And, above all, there is still the issue of a madman coming back to bite us all in the rear-end. _

He went to the window, the monkey still in hand, as a car's headlights flooded into the house.

It _was_ Vojin.

The therapist grinned and saluted, and then dropped the nice-guy act. The grin faded into a sneer and the salute turned into a finger going across his throat with the same hand that was shot, which was now wrapped up in a bandage.

A death threat.

He drove off. Cecil ran back to the phone, calling the house again. This time, Bob picked up. "Mother?"

"We need to get caller ID for times like this."

"Cecil? Marge isn't here yet."

"I know, but you have a bigger threat coming—be prepared. I don't know why he wants to attack, but he's wounded and without a gun. Unless he has another one, or a _bigger_ weapon. Hint-hint."

"Did Vojin show up at the house again? And why the hell didn't you shoot him?!"

"Two layers of glass and plenty of witnesses. Who do you think the police would believe, a prison therapist that has been working for them for years, or an inmate? Better yet, they may just arrest us for no good reason, or from his word."

"Just like the dam, yes . . . we'll be ready, and I'll send Marge back with the kids as soon as she gets here."

"Which should be any minute now."

"Indeed."

"But if she doesn't get back?"

"Then they'll be in the basement guarded by more than one gun and a knife. This _is_ our family you're talking about, you know."

"True. Very true."

"Even if he gets past us, it'll be hard unless he has another hand."

"I don't know, he was experimenting a lot on the human brain— well, the human everything. He might have done some fiddling around with genetics."

"What _did_ he do to you?"

"He didn't understand me."

"That explains a _lot_."

"It does, though. He created something to make the most insane people do whatever he wanted them to do—he figured I was insane and injected me with a dose."

"Hm. Why not me? _I'm_ the violent one."

"He understood _you_."

"Then why you?"

"He thought I was insane. I guess I'm not, considering what happened." He went on to explain what happened to Steven.

Bob stayed quiet throughout the whole thing. "Why did he figure you insane, of all people, then?"

"Because of the dam and your funeral."

"But your behavior was excellent during our time in prison. As much as I may joke about it, you do an excellent job of hiding insanity."

"I'm not insane - but he didn't see it that way."

"Is he even a therapist?"

"One that doesn't understand my mind."

"So why did you react that way to the injection?"

He thought for a second, and then said carefully, "If that serum was for people like Steven, then I suppose I really _am_ sane."

"Are you certain?" There was a hint of a smile in the voice.

"Well, he got three doses of it and even then he didn't go into a coma for three weeks like I did."

"Oh, about that—I lied. You were in the hospitable for three _months_."

"_What?!_"

"Well, you were in no state of mind to be told the—"

"I was in no state of mind to be told _lies!_"

"Cecil. You said, at one point, you knew who assassinated Spiderman."

"Touché. As I was saying, Steven didn't react as strongly as I did to _three_ doses. He was insane. I got one dose, mind you, and I went into a _coma_."

"I wonder if he experimented around with it, made it stronger?"

"Why don't you ask him when he comes?"

"Speaking of which, I think Marge is here now."

"Then hand her the children and turn the car around!"

"Yes _sir!_" He hung up.

The stuffed monkey was still in his hands. Cecil sat down at the kitchen table, and put it there. Santa's Little Helper (that was a ridiculously long name for a dog!) had stopped barking. The buzz of excited and gossiping neighbors had gone down to a few whispers. He took out the gun, and started walking around the house.

"Just in case," He whispered, "This will never happen again, to our family or anyone else's." Cecil cocked the pistol. "Next time, I won't hesitate."


	23. Death of a Madman

**And now: WHAT WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! 8D Couldn't resist updating early.**

* * *

Silence shrouded the Simpson household as Cecil stalked the hallways with the hand pistol. The poor dog had stopped barking a while ago, and the neighbors had gone back to their homes in peace. It was now the late evening, either seven o'clock or later, and the sun was going down.

Fast.

Dark grey clouds threatened a storm later on, and a wind pushed its way through the streets of Springfield, pushing with it the emptiness of any sound. Not even any cars passed by. Just a silence so strong you could hear a pin drop from upstairs. Cecil swung back into the kitchen, awaiting any further calls from his home. He despised being stuck here.

In a way, it reminded him of being trapped in Vojin's cages with no one to talk to except his hallucinations. At least this time around, he knew there were numerous exits instead of just one. Even then, that one door had been blocked off at all times.

The phone ringing made him jump and made a finger twitch towards the trigger. He immediately answered after putting the gun on his lap. The dog was barking again. "Yes?"

"Cecil?"

He sighed in relief. "Marge? Are you coming back?"

"Yes, and I'm bringing the children. Although we couldn't get Gino to come with me, so he's still at the house."

Bart, Lisa, and Maggie were all in their backseats, listening as closely as they could to the phone (which was on speaker).

"Then where are you calling from?"

"I have my cell. Homer gave it back to me, he's staying there."

"That's fine. And when do you suppose you're coming back?"

"As soon as I can—there is traffic, after all."

"It's so quiet you can't tell."

"I think there's an accident somewhere up ahead backing us all up."

"Ah."

"Do you think it was—eh, _his_ doing?"

"I don't know. Did Bob tell you about Vojin's love-gesture to me after you left?"

"I promise, if I had known the fight would have been over a minute after I left I wouldn't have floored it. Had a hard time finding my way back to your house, too!"

"Oh gee, _that's_ what you worry about! It's not like I was in a stand-off with a madman or anything!"

"Well, I was worried about what happened to you too—but I was trying to find my way back so I could tell the others."

"Thanks for caring."

"I was! As much as I could for somebody who's tried to murder my children! But—what _is_ our next move?"

"I don't know. We _will_ have to wait for him to make the first move for this one, I suppose. Unfortunately."

"Mmmm. Well, I just pulled into the neighborhood. Be there in a few seconds!"

"Good." And he meant it. With each second passing by, it felt more and more like Vojin's dungeon.

"And hey—are you alright? I know it's a—well . . ."

"I know. And it'll be a long time before I am ready to talk about it, or play therapist with you. Or anybody. Let's leave it at that."

"I'll give you your space if you give my family theirs."

"I made a promise to Lisa that if you helped us, I would never try to kill you again. I might have been out of my mind—literally—but I meant it. And for this I owe your family, the children especially, _big_."

He hung up when their car pulled into the driveway.

* * *

Homer drummed his fingers on the axe across his lap, frowning slightly. He groaned. "Oh, it's too quiet! When's something gonna happen?!"

Bob was frowning too, with his machete in his hands. "I would have figured he'd attack us by now . . . must be the wounded hand."

"Or he's wearing us down."

"True. Planning to tire us out while he sits back and watches us destroy each other." He re-gripped the knife. "Well, _that won't happen, dammit!_" His eye twitched.

"Do you have any beer to make the time pass by?"

"No. We have wine, though." He re-gripped the knife.

Homer was silent for a few moments before stating very slowly, and darkly, "Urge to kill…._rising_…."+

They all looked at him. Bob's eye twitched again as the two men stared at each other, both weapons in tense hands.

* * *

Vojin's car pulled into the Sleep Easy Hotel (which, due to some dead bulbs that nobody had bothered to replace yet, was 'Sleazy Hotel'). He got out and went inside.

_Gotta pack, gotta pack, gotta get out of this town before the police show up! Can't BELIEVE I was so STUPID!_

If they were smart enough to have called the police on him, then he was as good as dead. Especially if he got a lifetime sentence, with all of the inmates right next to him.

His experiments.

The proof was in his room. The serum was in all of his needles, from the current experiment he had been working on in Augusta. Nobody knew that he was doing _this_ to people. Not yet, anyway, not until he perfected it. And the gun was still in that front yard of that family's. Boom—they had his fingerprints.

When he got up to his room, the first thing he saw was the table with all of his "equipment" on it. There was the syringe as well, now empty from its most recent patient.

Or victim, considering the events and outcomes.

He grabbed a bag, planning on at least _hiding_ the experimental needles before the police showed. Give himself a fighting chance here, at least for a while.

_Should have shot that bastard while there was time._

* * *

She waited for precisely six minutes, and got out slowly. Nobody was looking, and nobody noticed her going inside. It had taken the entire afternoon to find the hotel that Vojin was staying in, and even longer to sit and wait for him to come back. She looked up at the cameras. They were small cardboard boxes. She looked around—the fire detectors were paper bowls with M&Ms glued on, and the pet cat was hog-tied and being carried to a hole in the wall by a tribe of rats. That wasn't something you see everyday.

The young man at the desk looked like he was half asleep, and gave her Vojin's room number without question.

Judith turned the unlocked knob and opened it, withdrawing the sword from her side.

Vojin turned around, dropping an empty syringe and a moist towel. "Wha—you?"

*"Bloody thou art, and bloody shall be thy end. Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend."

"I—" He smirked reaching behind him, slowly so that she didn't see. "We were just talking about you. Your son and I. He needs _help_. You need _help_. Remember me? I was the Springfield prison's therapist. I can _help_ you."

Her eyebrow went up. "You honestly did _not_ think that you wouldn't be a suspect? And now I know for sure." She nodded to the empty syringe beside him. "You put _that_ into my son. Didn't you?"

He took his hand back out from behind his back, dropping the full syringe of the substance he had injected into Cecil, leaving it for a few moments to talk his way out of this. "What syringe? That's just from some other patients of mine. I never injected anything into your—"

"Oh. _Now_ is the winter of your discontent." She shut the door behind her, all the while pointing the katana at him.

He grinned wickedly. "Fine then. You want the truth? Did he tell you anything about the month down in the dungeons? Because after our _experiments_, all that remained of him was a _hollow shell_. I _BROKE_ him! I shattered his mind into a _billion different pieces!_ _They'll never TRULY be fixed again! I may as well have KILLED him! Even if you kill me, I will haunt you in DEATH through my deeds! I have left my mark through FEAR and DISPAIR in my work and experiments! I have RUINED lives through them, and I have ruined your son's life—"_ he took a deep breath,_ "FOREVER!_"

*"_Despair and DIE!_"

He hurriedly reached behind his back, grabbed the syringe, and . . . the bandaged hand knocked it off the table. The contents spilled out over the floor in a gooey, lilac mess.

He gulped and said weakly, "Oh. Dear. A horse…a horse. My kingdom for a horse."*

*"Sin, death, and Hell have set their marks on you, and all their ministers attend on you!"

He gulped again as she lifted the sword's hilt into the air, staggering back and into his table of syringes. They clattered and clanged against each other, the metal tools worn out from use over the years.

*"Dispute not with her; she is _lunatic!_"

"For what you did? That I am." She took a menacing step forward, the sword ready and in front of her. "_Off_ _with your head!_"*

* * *

**The lesson to be learned here: don't mess with a Terwiliger's children! Sadly enough, it should only be another one or two chapters before this whole thing is over. So, I'll set up a poll soon, because summer has hit me with a load of inspiration for more story ideas. I know that I still have stories going on. But I'd like another Simpsons fic to focus on, as this was just that much fun. :P**

**+ - Tree House of Horror, 'The Shining.' What do you suppose is going to happen next? ;)**

***- Most of what she said was from **_**King Richard the Third**_**, by William Shakespeare.**


	24. Finale

**IMPORTANT NOTE****: now that I have your attention, please don't skip over this. It involves important information around the end of it about the next fic that I have started, even without the poll—but I will do the other top three votes. I even have a few chapters already written out of the next one, so it'll be up and posted sometime this summer.**

**I would like you to know how much it would mean to me that you do read the rest of this. It's just an end-of-the-story speech, but involves more of the background of **_**this**_** story—it truly does mean a lot to me that you've followed the whole thing to this point, and I thank all of you (who are reading) for that. It's been a lot of fun to write out, even with some of those pesky plot holes I've run into (thank you dear reviewers for helping me get through those times!). Overall, it's my favorite and (possibly) the most complicated story I've written, and I AM proud of it.**

**Onto the history, now that the thank-yous are over. ****This whole thing started from the end of a dream I had, when Bart and Lisa were on their knees in front of Judith, with Bob standing behind them with a knife. So, I wrote out the second chapter of this story first thing, with the children getting into trouble. That stayed in a folder on my computer for about a month before further inspiration came, and I followed up on that.**

**And so, because that same and strong inspiration has hit me again, I have started on 'Trapped'—it is about Cecil's time with Vojin during that month. It's my first time writing a fic like this, and adding some symbolism to a story, which may or may not suck. :P I'm trying to go deeper into this one, as it has a lot to do with the human mind, but they won't be too noticeable unless you think about it. Stay tuned at the end of this final chapter for a preview! Also, there's a poll up in my profile, asking about some other story ideas (the descriptions are up!). Go ahead and vote, but remember I'm already doing 'Trapped.'**

**So thank you dear readers and reviewers, for giving this story the attention it needed to get me through this. Same with reading and staying alive through this boring note. The actual chapter won't be this boring. Now read!**

* * *

Judith turned the knob to her house, tired—but joyous. It had to be done, and she left nothing of her presence behind. Thrown the cheap sword into the Springfield Lake, with only a few drunk bums as witnesses. Vojin had died through blood loss. Ironically enough, she didn't get any on her clothing, but had to thoroughly wash off some spots on her shoes.

There was yelling inside. Her eyes widened some when she finally saw _what_ exactly was making that yelling.

Both Homer Simpson and Bob were strangling each other.

"_Damn you and your better-than-me ways!"_

"_At least I HAVE a reason to gloat about my life!"_

"_Oh yeah, living with your parents is REALLY awesome!"_

Judith cleared her throat.

They stopped and looked at her with the "deer caught in headlights" look. Homer laughed nervously. "Heh—about that little comment on living with your parents and gloating thing . . ."

Robert was in his chair with Eddie on his lap. He looked up and gave a curt wave. "Welcome home, dear."

* * *

The animals had been let out of the basement, happy and starving. They had become even happier when Marge fed them, and were now wandering the house freely.

"So, what _did_ your children do to get them sent to boot camp?"

"We were just being kids, man," Bart said.

"You were not!" Marge exclaimed, "All three of you were getting into trouble, and it had to stop! Do you think you've learned your lessons from being kidnapped and kept in a basement until the evil psycho-therapist discovered where the Terwilligers were hiding?"

They all looked down. Maggie sucked her pacifier while the other two said, "Yes ma'am."

"Good."

"Technically, we weren't hiding. If anything, Vojin was, with his move to Maine and all."

Murmurs of agreement from the children, while a quizzical look came over Marge.

"After I was—I suppose it was _released_ from the dungeons, he moved to another prison. When I woke up, he came back to finish the job."

She nodded in sympathetic understanding. "Ah."

"Which was pretty ironic," Bart said, "because of he hadn't come back, then you wouldn't have remembered anything. Least not for a while."

"But we probably would have driven up to see him."

"Yeah, but do you think he would have said anything if we didn't tell him you'd woken up? If you didn't come with us?"

"If it weren't for the news, then that would have worked perfectly."

"Oh yeah. Well, you still kicked his butt! Wouldn't have expected that outta your family."

"We only fail when it comes to you. Literally. When our families 'clash,' as you say, it feels like we're under something's influence. Like it _wants_ to keep you alive for some apparent reason."

"Pft! Who doesn't? I'm this centuries' Denis the Menace!"

"That doesn't help your case at all, Bart," Lisa stated flatly.

The phone rang.

Cecil got up to get it, laughing, braking away from the living room. "Bob?"

"Not quite," Robert said. His voice was urgent. "Get everybody down here. Now."

"What happened?"

"Your mother's back."

"And Vojin?"

"Just get down here!"

He hung up, running to the living room. "Mother's back, we need to leave. Now."

"And Vojin?" Marge asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know, but it probably isn't good."

* * *

Finally, everybody was together. After a brief reunion, the question first came out of Cecil. Judith sighed, and sat down as the rest of them took his lead.

"We were looking for you for hours!"

"—So worried—"

"—Thought Vojin had gotten to you!"

"We had no car—"

She hushed them with a wave of her hand and a frown. "I found his hotel."

Homer said, "And . . ?"

"Turn on the news. I want to know if they have found him yet."

"You called the police on him?" Personally, Cecil hoped she had done a _little_ more than that. But, if he got a sentence in the same prison as his other experiments are . . . .

A whole lifetime of pain. Well—if any of his patients even remembered him.

Kent Brockman was just giving his report on 'Eye On Springfield.' "—And that is why they can no longer accept squirrels into the Springfield hospital. In other conveniently-said-at-this-exact-time news, the death toll in the Sleep-Easy Hotel today is forty-seven. Oh, this just in! The count is now forty-nine. Including the old prison psychologist, Professor Victor Vojin. He succumbed to severe stab wounds just earlier today, said so-called "professionals." Guess his patients finally got to him, the poor bastard. But we'll never know who killed him. Nope. Never." He paused, grinning. "Never . . ."

Judith turned it off. Robert put an arm around her, and she in return allowed Eddie to crawl between their bodies.

Homer said, "Pretty convenient, that news channel . . . But if you try to sit through the whole thing, he mostly repeats stuff and only gets around to one important and or convenient news clip per episode . . ."

Nobody said anything for a long while.

Marge spoke up. "Well. Since this is all over—I think we should be going. It _is_ over, right? Since we'll _never_ know who did it and all."

Judith smiled. "Never _is_ certainly a long time."

"A long time," Bob said, "to keep a secret like this. Even for us."

"He had it coming," Cecil said flatly. "After everything that happened not only to me, but to the other unsuspecting men before I, he had it coming."

"It _was_ a worthy death, wasn't it Cecil?" Marge asked, "Because _nobody_ deserves to die like that without the right cause. Well. Nobody deserves to die like that period!"

"It was, I can assure you. While I was in there, he brought down a man. Injected him with something. That man went insane inside a locked room while Vojin sat back and took notes. He died about an hour later."

A few moments of silence before she said, "My god - did he do that with you?"

He didn't answer for a while. "He didn't treat me so specially, no."

"Before he _mysteriously_ died, Cecil, he told me." Judith glared daggers at the memory, "It wasn't everything, but it was enough to know about that month."

"To know that this is incredibly awkward for those of us that aren't part of your family?" Homer asked, getting up.

Cecil laughed. "So this will never leave the room? You all swear, you'll really do it?"

He shrugged. "Hey, if I don't know what you're talking about, then I don't know how to repeat it. Right?" He winked.

"And," Marge cut in, "we'll keep your secret. That's a promise—so long as Cecil keeps his word and you all stay away from my children." She pointedly looked at Bob. "Besides, I think Vojin's death was warranted the very day he took in his first patient."

Bob held his hands up. "Fine then. Truce until you do something to ruin my life again—but please don't let word of _this_ leak out. Anything but this. And then it will be a full-blown _war_ between us—far worse than our past attempts!"

They all said together, "It's a deal!"

Homer said, "Now let's all go home and forget all about this forever."

If only, Cecil thought. As the Simpsons left, he stuck his hand in his pocket. Maggie turned around and gave him Remember, and then waved goodbye to all of them. He smiled, and returned the small wave. He then turned to his mother when they were all gone and Francesca went to put Gino to bed. Robert and Bob went into the kitchen to have a few moments.

Eddie, of course, trailed behind Bob.

* * *

Robert put his hand over his mouth. "I would have liked to do that to him myself."

"Same here. Especially with how much we worried that month." He leaned against the counter.

"Do you remember what happened at the end?"

They had discussed this. At the end of that month, when Bob questioned Vojin one last time, he had ended up in solitary confinement. No memory of what and how it happened, and nobody believed him about his innocence. Vojin had done something to him—not only with the memory, but to cause madness. He had stayed in there until it wore off.

"No," he confessed, "Only bits and pieces have come."

"Which ones?"

He shrugged. "It's mostly blurry. I only remember a bright white light. I'm strapped down. A grey stone ceiling. That's it."

"Think harder," He urged.

It was still blurry. He frowned, squeezing his eyes shut, "It's still fuzzy, Father. I _think_ there's a yellow lump in the corner. Yellow and orange . . ." He opened them. "Cecil!" He frowned again, "He has no shirt on . . ."

"_That's_ what you notice? Think, what is he doing?"

"I don't know. I can't see clearly—sleeping, maybe?"

"Mm. Well, it doesn't matter now, anyway."

"He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"No, no. I never caught his attention. Even in his sessions."

"It infuriates me—wouldn't the police have done something about this? I mean, he was right under their noses the whole time! _He was right there!_"

"You _do_ realize what you're saying, don't you? They're all idiots, Bob. Vojin covered himself well enough to get by them, which wasn't doing much."

"But—what if they actually _approved_ of those experiments, Dad?"

"Vojin said his experiments were to change a hardened criminal. All they knew was that it worked. Maybe he simply didn't tell them _how_ he got it to work."

He nodded. "I suppose you're right. And, unless somebody else takes up the practice, then the experiments will stop."

"Indeed." He nodded.

"What do you suppose will happen when they find the dungeon?"

"Discover what he was doing down there. If they have any sense, than they would burn everything. Then again, I am not them."

"Unfortunately."

"Indeed."

"So you expect that we all just move on with our lives?"

"Not easily, but life goes on. I expect therapy—er, some form of it—in many men's futures."

"If they remember anything. If somebody does, and speaks up, then perhaps a cure for that lilac injection will be in order."

"If Vojin has kept a record of his patients, then for their sakes I hope so."

They were silent.

Bob yawned and stretched. "I'm going to go to bed. We're just finishing up on the dam, and I need to make sure I have the brain capacity to get out of a locked room."

"Oh?"

"The slack-jawed yokels have been added to with slack-jawed office drones that don't especially like me. I don't know why. I suppose we merely got off on the wrong foot . . . Well then. Goodni—"

They started listening to Cecil and Judith's conversation, which will be shown in a few paragraphs.

Cecil called out after it was done, "Everybody heard that?"

"Yes!" Everybody replied.

A few more muffled sounds.

Judith's voice rose, "Your room has been ready for three and a half months, dear. We'll discuss separate houses when we find the money."

"Hey," Bob raised his voice, "weren't there people we know of who _owe_ us a favor?"

The Simpsons' car drove off in the distance. He laughed, going out.

* * *

Robert and Bob went into the kitchen for a moment or two alone. With Eddie, of course.

So, it was just Cecil and Judith. "Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Did he die slowly? And painfully?"

"I made sure to let him know where he was going as soon as I was done with him."

"But did he?"

"I would say so, yes. You have a stuffed monkey in your hand, dear."

He looked down. "It would appear so, yes."

"Why did she give it to you?"

"It brought me back to this world. Helped me remember that month. Mm. Speaking of which—what _did_ he tell you?"

"He pointed out the hard truth."

"It's pretty damn hard."

"Language."

He laughed. There were a few extra moments of silence and tension. "He told you what happened, didn't he?"

She told him what happened in the hotel.

He paused. "Oh. That's all?"

"That's all? There was more in that month?"

He opened and closed his mouth, and sat on the cushion next to her, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. "I despise soft moments."

She leaned back. "Sometimes things must be rid of through words."

"Even before the serum, I lost my mind."

"Oh?"

"He kept me in there for a month. There had been others before me. In _cages_, Mother, _cages!_ There were bloody scratches in the walls—marking how long they were in there. There was one wall that was covered with them. Hundreds, if not less. I never did any, he kept switching cages after experiments. Couldn't have kept track, and I lost the days anyway."

"How did _that_ old man put you into a cage?"

"There were guards."

"And they _let_ him do that?!"

"They were paid well, yes. And technically they weren't cages—small cells. Large enough to stand up in, but still . . ."

A heavy silence hung in the air. "Go on."

"This feels good, talking."

"You've kept it to yourself for so long. Long enough to drive anybody mad."

"Indeed . . ."

"What else did he do?"

"It was his own mental hospital down there. I still have memories blocked out, there are some things a person should _never_ have to endure."

"Then you don't have to talk about them."

"I don't remember anyway."

"All the better, then. No strong trauma?"

"No. But I still have phobias. And yet I know I'm much better off than I have been in . . . what is it now, four months? Five? Since it all started, I mean."

"Almost five. Four and a half."

He nodded. "I still have specific fears Vojin created within me. He only released those who were broken, Mother. That would have been my only way out of the dungeon—to let him get to me."

There were a few moments of silence before Judith straightened up in her seat and said, "You stayed strong."

"I kept a ridiculous amount of hope until the very end."

"When he did everything to you—"

"He wanted me to lose my mind. I knew that, and it kept me going." He shrugged. "After a few weeks I got tired."

"After an experiment, or just tired?"

"Both."

"But what did he do to you?"

"What doctors would do to mental patients, when they were allowed to . . . to torture them. Back in that era."

Her eyes widened.

"Ice baths, I remember those."

Her face now hardened. "Go on."

"Nightmares. Horrible, _horrible_ nightmares."

"Worse than the ones you had here?"

"Yes. There was something he injected me with. It caused hallucinations. And electrode therapy. That was the worst one."

"How often did he do these to you?"

"Almost every day. Just the whole torture method, I mean, not only the electrode therapy. Sometimes he was nice and gave me a few hours of break-time."

"What about food?"

"Same as the regular prison lunches. Once he put something in there to cause worse hallucinations than what I already had, I believe. I refused to eat after that for a full week."

"My God…"

"He did it because he didn't understand my psych, my-my _mind_, dammit! It was all because I wasn't _insane_ enough for him!" His voice rose at the end.

She hugged him—something neither of them had done in years. "He despaired and died, Cecil. He isn't in a good place, and he never will be. It's over now. We can move on."

He let her hug him. "Good." He called out after a while, "Everybody heard that?"

"Yes!" They all replied. Including the Simpsons, from outside.

He smirked, eying the door, "You can leave now, the moment's over!"

"You sure?" Homer asked.

"Positive."

"Okay, bye forever!" Although he didn't mean it to be heard, the sound traveled, "Yeah freaking right."

"What do you mean by that?" Marge asked.

"Sideshow Bob _always_ comes back, one way or another. Even I know that."

"When you can remember who he is," Bart chuckled.

"WHY YOU LITTLE—!"

A choking sound ensued for a few moments after that, until Marge cut in. "Stop it! Homer, Bart, after this, for once, they actually owe _us_. I don't know if they'll ever leave us alone for sure, but they'll need healing time after this. Just leave them be for now, we're all exhausted and it's past your bedtimes."

"Yes ma'am." Both replied.

"Speaking of which," Judith broke off the hug, and patted Cecil's shoulder. "I think it's time we all go."

"Do I still have to sleep in the basement, or is my room fit to sleep in?"

"Your room has been ready for three and a half months, dear. We'll discuss separate houses when we find the money."

"Hey," Bob raised his voice, "weren't there people we know of who _owe_ us a favor?"

Their car immediately started and drove off.

"Goodnight, Mother."

"Goodnight, Cecil. Hopefully, pleasant dreams."

"Thank you, I hope so too." He felt Remember's arm—it was like a fleece blanket; still new.

Bob walked into the room, Eddie trailing behind. He saluted and said pleasantly, "+Buona notte!"

"No ugly comments about Eddie?" Cecil asked, bewildered, "Nothing? God, there _is_ something wrong with you!"

"No, I have simply grown accustomed to his face. Those wide, black, staring eyes. And face." He glared at him for a few more seconds. "Father!"

"What's the matter this time?"

"I've figured out why he bothers me, besides the stalking! It's his face in general!"

He chuckled. "You aren't exactly a picture yourself, you know!"

"Notice the complete absence of gasps following that statement," Cecil said.

"Jealous, are we?" He smirked.

*"I might point out that while _I_ got Mom's small features, _you_ got Dad's chunky thighs. No offense to Father."

Bob grumbled, and went into his room. Both Francesca and Gino were waiting.

"Gino would not-eh sleep. I find it **difficile as well, after everything."

"Very well then. It's been a long, hard day for everybody." He smiled and shut the door before Eddie could get in.

Cecil started to his room as well. "I'll be in my room trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened today. Probably coping with the drugs in my system, if they're still in here. Goodnight again!"

Robert came into the room, and raised an eyebrow. He turned to Judith, "He _does_ have a stuffed monkey in his hands, correct?"

"Maggie Simpson gave it to me. Helped me to remember everything." He looked at it. "It really is odd that something so simple could make such a drastic change."

"Perhaps simple is all you could handle after that month," he said gravely.

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "Anyway, we have had a very long day indeed. Tiring, both mentally and physically. For the first time in a long while, but the last time I'll say it tonight—goodnight, everybody!" He shut the door behind him. It would be a _long_ while before anyone could get over the tumult events of the past five months indeed.

Unfortunately, just as Vojin had wanted.

* * *

**A sad end to my sad yet favorite story . . . Like I promised, here's the preview to the prequel! LOL, I wrote the two chapters of each story simultaneously in one night. If any of you want to, feel free to draw a scene from this story (that comes from the dream I had—it was literally a picture). Just let me know you're doing it—okay, so it really _would_ mean a LOT to me if somebody drew something from this. **

**Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing!**

***- Quoting Niles Crane's statement in **_**Frasier**_**.**

****- Italian for 'difficult.'**

**+- Italian for 'goodnight.'**

* * *

He looked across the room. A little girl was there, holding her hands against her ears. Her face was consorted into a silent scream—slow motion. No sound.

Cecil knew then that this was a hallucination.

The girl across the room was silently screaming in slow motion. Okay. Her eyes were squeezed shut, blowing forth the power of her scream as if it were real and in sound. She wore a white gown, and had long, stringy grayish-blond hair. He blinked, and turned away.

_If she doesn't exist, then she won't be there when I turn back._

Turning back, she was right in front of him. She breathed heavily, hands still against ears, but no longer screaming or doing anything in slow motion. She was rocking herself back and forth. Her eyes had grey bags around them, bringing out the deadly shade of lighter grey in her skin tones.

Her neck twisted up to see him. She smiled.

Her teeth were an ugly shade of brown.

"Not allowed to tell any secrets," she said, "not allowed to speak."

"Wh-what?" He was in a state of shock. Why was she still here if he _knew_ she wasn't real?

"No secrets are to be told," she shook her head. "But I've already said everything."

"What?" She was the subconscious part of his mind. She was the subliminal message for _something_.

"Already said everything," She rocked herself faster now, faster than anybody _can_ go, shaking her head vigorously. "_Already said everything!_ _Already said everything!_"

"Stop that!"

"_Already said everything! Already said everything!_"

"_STOP!_"

"Already _said everything! Already said_—" She stopped, grinned with those ugly brown teeth, and said in a sing-song voice, "It's coming!"

He blinked, and she was gone.


End file.
